


Thoroughly, Better, and More

by ensorcel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Minor Character Death, POV Minerva McGonagall, Queer Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 107,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensorcel/pseuds/ensorcel
Summary: Minerva McGonagall has lived a long, long life.A study of her years through the women that have impacted her the most—spans 1935 and onward.
Relationships: Amelia Bones/Minerva McGonagall, Minerva McGonagall/Poppy Pomfrey, Rolanda Hooch/Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 112
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well. i had planned this to be a oneshot that would be max 8k and here we are, with 10 chapters and 40k for part one (there will be 3 parts). anything with fantastic beasts or cursed child are not considered canon here, but i have taken minerva's pottermore story into account. basically, this is the story of minerva mcgonagall the Lesbian if jkr wasn't a coward. 
> 
> many thanks to [zigostia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigostia) for her endless support of my clownery and betaing this absolute monster of a story. and, if it wasn't already obvious, fuck jkr <3

**PART I - AMELIA**

“Let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Sensible Thing_

* * *

Minerva’s father was her idol. Robert McGonagall was a stern, fore-boding, broad man who loved his children more than anything in the world, and that included his wife. His children came first, his wife came second, and his faith third, close enough to what God had intended. 

On the morning of Minerva’s sixth birthday—when Robert Jr. was three and her mother still pregnant—her father shook her awake before the crack of dawn and told her to throw on her farm shoes and a pair of trousers. She fished out the few pairs of pants she owned and hurried down the stairs with all the excitement only a young child could show with the maturity of a woman far past her age. 

If Minerva was any young girl, her father would’ve shushed her at her joy and told her to quiet down, but Minerva made the bagpipes sing when she was a baby and summoned her toys to her crib, so Minerva, to her mother’s large dismay and her father’s small one, was not like any young girl. 

The sun had yet to rise and the sky was dark but with the undertone of something light and small Caithness was quiet, still, like young Minerva had never seen. The marketplace was always bustling and there were always people in the parish and her father was, more often than not, talking, talking, talking. Minerva eventually learnt that her father’s words were carefully chosen, not a single one to be wasted, and this was one of the best lessons she’d learnt in her long, long life. 

Papa held onto her hand tightly and he was warm and he was tall and she was all of six years old but she already knew how to help her mother hide Robert Jr.’s small sparks of magic—sometimes literally—and how her next brother or sister would be different too. _Unlike_ their father. 

“Come along, lass,” he said, tugging on her hand and leading them down the street. The lamps had yet to be lit and her little town was lovely, dark, and deep. They headed to the end of the street, where there was a bench and a dark lamp and a lone tree. Minerva tried to match her father’s footsteps as much as she could, but she was just too small and he too large. He laughed and eventually tossed her up onto his shoulders. 

Minerva thought she could see the world from here. She gripped onto Papa’s hands, giggling as he tickled her a little. 

“Higher, Papa! Higher!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t make myself taller, lass,” he replied, chuckling. He pulled a match out of his pocket and stood up on the bench, Minerva still perched on his shoulders, and leaned towards the street lamp. The flame burned brightly and he gently passed it to Minerva. 

“Here, hold this carefully,” he instructed sternly, holding on tightly to her legs. Minerva watched as the flame danced before her eyes, hot, but not hot enough to burn. Yet. “Now, put it here,” Papa said, opening the latch on the lamp, pointing at the oil wick in the middle. Minerva gave a small nod. 

Her hand was very still and very sure as she held the match to the wick, eyes widening as the flame burned harder. Suddenly, the flame licked at her finger, just a little, and she dropped the match. 

“Papa!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand to her father to see. There was a small burn on her pointer finger. Papa held it gently and gave it a small kiss. 

“Not to worry, we’ll fix you right up when we get home,” he reassured her, taking her down from his shoulders and holding Minerva in his arms. He was warm, like the flame. They watched as the fire burned brighter in the lamp, lighting up the bench just as the sun started to rise. Papa sat down, with Minerva’s arms around his neck, burrowing herself into his embrace. 

“See that?” He was pointing at the horizon. Minerva nodded, sucking on her finger. They were at the top of a small hill, which overlooked the rest of Caithness. Minerva could see their manse just out of the corner of her eye. 

The sun was bright like the flame, bringing life to the world like the lamp had brought light to the bench. Minerva watched, just as fascinated as she was with the match. It was a clear sky—a bit of a rarity for northern Scotland—and Minerva was settled into her father’s arms when everything in the world was okay and their lives were bright and she had a baby sibling on the way and if they had to hide a couple of things, well so be it, but she was here, _right now_ , with her father, with the man she loved more than anything else in the world, as the sun began to rise and the birds started to sing.

“Happy birthday, Minerva,” he whispered in her ear. Minerva giggled and tugged on his beard. 

“Happy, happy, happy,” she sang, because that was what she was and her father joined her. Held her tight and showed her the sunrise and took her home to bandage up her slightly burnt finger and told her over and over and over again that he loved her. 

“Don’t you ever forget,” he’d always add. 

“I won’t,” she’d always reply. 

Minerva’s youngest brother, Malcom McGonagall, was born on a bright winter morning in December of 1941, when Minerva was in the living room with her brother, grandmother, and Papa pacing the floor. 

“Robert, son,” her grandma said, bouncing Robert Jr. on her lap, who was biting at his stuffed animal in a way that made Minerva’s teeth grate. “Isobel’s done this twice already. She’ll be just fine. We women know how these things work.” 

Papa looked up from his pacing but did not stop. “Robert,” Grandma added sternly, and Minerva wanted to laugh a little, but knew that it was not the time or place. Like when her magic was to be used—she was getting better and better at it by the day. No more outbursts of shelves or books, that was for sure. 

Minerva played with the hem of her skirt, even though she knew that Mother would scold her if she saw, but Mother was upstairs welcoming her new sibling into the world and there were some very loud screams that certainly didn’t sound pleasurable. Robert Jr. was still sucking on his teddy bear and Minerva was tempted to snatch it right from his hands. Instead, she inched closer to her grandmother and leaned against her leg. 

“Granny?” 

She looked down, smiling at Minerva. “Yes, dear?” 

“Can you tell me about the day Mother and Papa met?” Granny laughed a little, still bouncing Robert Jr. on her lap.

“Well, as I wasn’t there, I can only tell you what I’ve heard from your dear parents,” Granny started, sitting up more. Minerva watched her with bright eyes. Aside from her mother, there was no woman she loved more than her grandmother. 

“Your Papa met your Mum on a bright, beautiful day with a clear blue sky,” she began. Minerva glanced out the window. 

“Like this one?” 

Granny nodded. “Exactly like this one.” 

“She was the prettiest girl in town, just like you,” Papa chimed in, sitting down with them, pulling Minerva into his lap, tickling her a little. She giggled, curling into her father’s embrace. 

“You do look quite a bit like her, Minerva,” Granny commented. Papa picked her up and threw her into the air, catching her. Minerva laughed and laughed and laughed. 

“Again!”

“Anything for my princess,” Papa replied and Minerva was flying, flying, flying until small Malcom was born and Papa showed her the tiny bundle and she commented that his red, wrinkly face looked a little like a potato and everyone laughed. 

She wasn’t allowed to see Mother yet—she was still recovering—but she jumped into her mother’s bed three days afterwards, hugging her with everything she had and told her she loved her like Papa did with her and promised her that she would help her hide Malcom’s magic because that was just something big sisters did and Minerva wanted to be the best big sister in the whole wide world. 

Mother gave a tired smile and hugged her back and kissed her on the forehead and held her tightly and told her too, that she loved her and that she always would but she never told her to not forget, like Papa did, and she didn’t throw Minerva up in the air like Papa did but that was okay, because Mother was magical just like Minerva was and she was sure that would amount for something, someday. 

Minerva was told about Hogwarts on a warm, summer day by the creek in their backyard when Mother was washing up the clothes, after Mother had glanced over her shoulder thrice and Minerva was almost eight. She was a big girl now, or so Mother had said, and told that she deserved to know. 

“Hogwarts is the school for witches and wizards,” Mother began calmly, setting the basket of clothes on the rocks by the water. 

“Like me. And Robert, and Malcom,” Minerva stated, grabbing a shirt and a washboard. Mother nodded, lips thinned. And not like Papa, she knew, but didn’t say. Would never say. 

“You’ll receive a letter when you turn eleven, telling you to attend,” Mother explained, a small smile dancing on her lips. 

“Eleven?” Minerva asked, quiet. That was so far away. She was eight already! Couldn’t she go now? But Minerva was raised a proper, Scottish girl so she didn’t ask. 

“Yes, dear,” Mother said, looking at her. 

“What’s it like?” 

Mother paused for a bit, looking off into the distance. 

“It will be the best years of your life,” she simply said. 

Hogwarts. What a funny name. 

Minerva couldn’t wait until she got her letter. 

The day the war ended, Minerva found a newspaper on the kitchen counter, when her mother had ducked out to grab some tomatoes from their garden and Papa was still at the parish. There were moving pictures on the newspaper. Her hand itched to throw it out, to burn it, so her father wouldn’t see it when he came back, but Minerva had never touched anything magical in her life, and thumbed her way through the pages. 

It felt like any regular newspaper, but the text crawled and the pictures moved and there was the giant headline _HERO ALBUS DUMBLEDORE DEFEATS GRINDELWALD IN DANGEROUS DUEL_ , with a photo of a young, auburn haired man smiling at the camera, waving his hand a little. He was quite handsome, Minerva decided after a while. She wasn’t able to read further before her mother bustled back into the manse, snatching the newspaper from under her nose. 

“Minerva!” she admonished, as if _she_ wasn’t the one who’d left the newspaper lying around willy-nilly. 

“You did leave it out,” she pointed. Mother’s cheeks reddened a little as Minerva bounced on the balls of her feet with her hands behind her back. “So, who’s Grindelwald?” 

Mother tensed a little, but set the newspaper down, along with the basket of vegetables. She looked at Minerva with a strange expression, but guided her to the dining table, sitting down with a sigh. 

“I—I suppose since you’ll be going to Hogwarts next year, you should know this,” she explained solemnly. Minerva sat down slowly, but burning with curiosity. Mother was always reluctant to share information about anything magical. 

“Alongside the war here, in the muggle world,” Mother started, “there was also one in the wizarding world.” 

Minerva’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. “Like all wars, it was bloody and brutal and I shouldn’t need to tell you this, Minerva, but I shall. Don’t ever get tangled up with the business of men. Shall never lead you to anything but heartbreak and complication.” 

_But you married Papa_ , Minerva wanted to say. 

“Dumbledore, the man you saw on the cover,” Mother nodded at the newspaper, “finally defeated Grindelwald in a duel.” 

“Why was there a war?” Minerva asked, because there were things she wanted to know and there was nothing she knew about the wizarding world other than the fact that she was one. Mother sighed again but looked her right in the eye. 

“That, my dear, is a long and dreaded story,” Mother replied, looking weary, and Minerva left it at that. 

She wanted to ask if Mother had a wand. And if she did, where it was. But she silently left her seat and started to wash the tomatoes as she listened to her brothers play in the field, laughter bright as cheers rang throughout the streets and bottles knocked back. Minerva wanted to join them, in their joy and relief that she was just a tad too young to truly understand, but she stood by their sink, preparing dinner as her mother stared at the newspaper that Minerva never quite got to finish.

At promptly eight in the morning of October 4th, 1946, right when Papa was heading out the door and kissed Mother on the cheek, an owl came flying through their kitchen window, perching gracefully on the sink faucet. Minerva was eating breakfast with Robert and Malcom, who were both complaining about how early it was and how they didn’t want to go to school but Minerva didn’t have the heart to shush them because there was an owl in their house and Minerva had never seen one of those before. 

In its talons, curved, delicate, and strong, was a letter, clutched. She stared at it. 

“Whoa! Is that an owl?” Robert exclaimed, both of them jumping out of their seats. Minerva’s mother closed the door as quickly as she could, rushing her father out of the way. 

Minerva wanted to smack both her brothers’ heads with the newspaper and say yes, that was a bloody owl, can’t you _see_ Malcom? 

But she was a proper lady and proper ladies didn’t do things like that. She slowly got up and approached the owl, unsure and unsteady. Mother didn’t say anything. Her brothers both rushed up with her, but Minerva placed out a stern arm, like she’d seen her father do, a simple reprimand, because she was so sure, so certain, that this was for her. 

She gently ran her hand on the owl’s head, smiling as it gave a small hoot. Then, she carefully plucked the letter from its claws. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking for some kind of collar or indication of the owl’s name. Surely, wizards named their owls, right? There was nothing so she just gave it another pet as it cocked its head at her with wide eyes. “Would you like anything to eat? I’m sure you’ve come a long way,” she said gently, watching the owl just as carefully as it was watching her. 

“Darling, owls hunt,” her mother finally said, coming by her side. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen one myself,” she said absentmindedly. She reached out a hand to stroke the owl’s head and tutted. “Stay as long as you’d like. You’ll be needing to bring something back.”

And with that, the owl seemed to nod. 

Minerva’s letter sat heavy in her hands. It was addressed to, in what looked to be very fine blue ink—was it _sparkling?_ —Minerva McGonagall, the second smallest bedroom, 28 Woodschurch Road, Caithness, Scotland. Mother glanced over her shoulder, beaming and Minerva thought she saw tears gleaming in her bright green eyes. 

Her hands were steady as she broke the seal—a lovely red one that was obviously expensive, as was the paper, Minerva noted—and unsheathed three pieces of parchment. She couldn’t say quite why, but it tingled with magic in a way that Minerva had never experienced before. Something universal, like it was running through her veins. She supposed in some ways it was. 

“Mother?” she asked quietly, asking her for reassurance. Mother squeezed her arm. 

“Do you want me to read it?” 

Minerva nodded, silently. Robert and Malcom were watching with their eyes wide, leaning forward in their chairs. Magic was something that was rarely talked about in the McGonagall household, and for good reason. But today, it was in the air. Somewhat literally, Minerva mused. 

“Dear Minerva McGonagall,” Mother began, her voice wavering with pride as she held the letter up. Minerva’s heart was pounding. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Students will be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival. Please find an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the first of September, 1947”—that was nearly a whole year away!—“and we await your owl no later than June 31, 1947. To avoid detection by muggles, please use the entrance located at Kings Cross Station Downtown London, on Platform 9 ¾. We look forward to having you at our school. Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore”— _the_ Albus Dumbledore? The one Minerva had seen in the paper a year ago?—“Deputy Headmaster.” 

Mother’s arms were immediately around her, nearly dropping the letter and Minerva was warm and happy and so terribly excited that she thought she would burst. 

“Oh Minerva,” Mother sighed, pulling back and holding onto her shoulders, looking at her in a way that she never had before. “I’m so proud of you.” She sniffed and hugged her again. 

“Thank you, Mother,” she replied, hugging her back. She reread the letter herself and then the list of required supplies. “Where on earth are we going to get these?” 

A cauldron? Set of dragon-hide gloves? 

Mother smirked and patted her arm. “Leave that to me, darling.” 

“Mum, when will I get to go to Hogwarts?” Robert whined, stomping his feet. Mother and Minerva both laughed. 

“When you get your letter, dear,” Mother said, smiling. “All three of you, wait here. Close the drapes please,” she instructed. “I’ll be right back.” 

Minerva looked at her brothers strangely but they did as they were told. Mother dashed upstairs, her footsteps ringing through the small house. Soon, when all the curtains were drawn and Minerva, Robert, and Malcom were quietly seated at the dining table, Mother came racing down, with a thin stick in her hand. Minerva’s eyes widened. 

“Is that—” 

Mother nodded, smiling rather smugly. “It is. We’ve got a little time before you three have to head off to school, so let’s begin.” 

She still had to go to school? What in the world—

“We still have to go to school?” Robert asked, flabbergasted. For once, Minerva didn’t want to strangle her brother and smiled. 

“Come on, Mother, surely—” 

Mother shook her head firmly. “When you get back, we’ll prepare a lovely meal for your father and tell him the good news.” Her voice wavered a little at the end. Minerva grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed it. 

“Show us!” Malcom said excitedly, jumping up and down with all the precocity a five year old boy could. Robert joined him and Minerva couldn’t help but smile. 

“Please, Mother!” 

Mother rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh, but relented and waved her wand. 

_“Avis!”_

A beautiful, fluttering of yellow birds appeared from the tip of Mother’s wand, twittering quietly and flying all around the house. Minerva watched them with bright eyes, following each of their loops through the house, chirping quietly. The owl that was still at their sink seemed to eye the small birds. 

“Birds!” Malcom yelled and Minerva noticed her mother waved her wand once again. This time, however, nothing appeared. She frowned. Mother winked at her. 

“Silencing charm,” she explained. “Keeps the neighbours from hearing.” 

Minerva bounced on her feet. 

“Can I do that?” 

Mother nodded. “Eventually. Once you get your own wand. I’m sure you’ll be a brilliant witch.” 

Minerva beamed and watched as Malcom and Robert chased the birds around the living room. She eventually joined them, running after her brothers, screaming wildly as Mother laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Then, with a poof, the birds disappeared and Minerva collapsed on Robert, pushing him down to the floor. 

“Enough now, we have to get going to school. Still have lots of things to learn!” 

Malcom and Robert grumbled but Minerva had never felt more joy in her life and picked up her bag and grabbed her brothers’ coats and helped her mother shuffle them out the door. 

“Thank you,” Minerva whispered, grabbing her hand. Mother gave her a watery smile and pushed back her hair. 

“I love you,” she replied, kissing her on her forehead. Minerva was getting close to Mother’s height now. 

“I love you too.” 

The day was bright and the walk to school was short and Mother held Malcom’s hand and Minerva was going to Hogwarts in a year and soon she’d be followed by Robert and then by Malcom and the future was a long, shining road ahead of them. Minerva spent her lunch break writing a reply to Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and raced home to send it along the way with the owl because yes, yes, _yes_ she was going to Hogwarts, she was absolutely going to Hogwarts, and a year was simply too long a wait.

Around a month after Minerva’d received her Hogwarts letter, Mother marched into her room just as the church bells promptly rang on the hour—out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw that it was three in the afternoon—and nearly yanked her from her books and told her to get dressed into something she wouldn’t mind ruining and said that she was waiting at the door. Minerva frowned, but scrambled through her drawers for her farm clothes, a raggy shirt and a patched up pair of jeans, and raced downstairs as soon as she could. 

“Where are we going?” 

Mother gave her a tight smile. “London.”

Minerva frowned but put on her coat and boots and followed her mother out the door, dressed just like how anyone would expect of the Reverend’s wife. They marched through the market, with Mother greeting all the vendors like she usually did, with her kindness and efficiency that Minerva had always wanted to copy but never quite mastered. It wasn’t until they reached the train station at the end of town that Minerva noticed that Mother had her wand tucked up her sleeve, just out of view but with easy access. 

Minerva’s eyes gleamed. She tugged on Mother’s hand. “Are we—”

Mother smiled as they sat down in their seats. “Yes, dear. Ride should be around four hours.” 

Her jaw dropped. “ _Four_ hours?” 

Mother just nodded and pulled out the book she’d brought. She handed another one to Minerva. 

“I think you’ll like this one.” 

Minerva took it from her tentatively. “Aren’t there… _other_ ways of transportation?” Surely, witches and wizards had faster ways of getting about. There was no way that they were so limited—hadn’t her letter mentioned something about First Years not allowed broomsticks? That had to be some kind of mode of transportation, right? 

Mother sighed a little and put her book down. “There are,” she began slowly, looking around them quickly. There were a couple other passengers, so she lowered her voice even more. “But we’ll be arriving and leaving London normally.” 

Minerva wanted to press her, but Mother flipped back open her book and her tone was firm so Minerva just leafed through the well worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ and wondered if Elizabeth Bennett had ever felt as strange as she was right now. 

The train ride lasted years. If Minerva was Robert or Malcom, she would be kicking her feet against the seat in front of her and moaning and groaning until Mother threatened full chores for the next month. But she wasn’t Robert or Malcom and she was a polite, well-mannered girl so Minerva sat quietly, reading her book and nearly shot up when the train finally slowed at the station. Mother grabbed her hand and they rushed out, before anyone else, and Minerva was in London for the first time, with its bustling people and trains and at King’s Cross Station—of which she saw from the sign—she wondered where Platform 9 ¾ was. The question was on the tip of her tongue but Mother was glancing around nervously, as if she would be caught, and they hurried down the street and out of the station before Minerva could even think. 

They bustled through the busy, busy streets with faces of strangers and more people Minerva had ever seen in her life, from her childhood up in little Caithness, tucked away in their small corner of Scotland. Sometimes, the loud boy Bobby, who was the son of a businessman from London, would brag about his trips and weekends in the big city, of how much _better_ it was compared to tiny, boring Caithness, Minerva wanted to punch him but here, right now, she wondered if he wasn’t just a tiny bit right. 

Mother stopped them at the door of what looked to be a dingy pub, with a somewhat broken sign in front of it called The Leaky Cauldron, sandwiched between book shop and record place and as Minerva glanced around, no one stopped to look into its windows or open its doors, unlike the many shoppers who were peering into the displays of the stores beside. 

Mother swung open the door and Minerva was rushed into a dark and damp room, filled with people, almost as much as in the bustling streets of London, but this time, Minerva saw people dressed in tall hats of varying colours and clothes of all makes and cuts as possible, draping sleek patterns often with gold and silver embellishments and there was magic _everywhere._ Even if Minerva was blind, she would’ve felt it in the air. Quite literally. 

There were floating drinks served to patrons and candles just suspended. Minerva wanted to swipe her hand above them, just to check if they were _really_ magic and not just held up by some invisible string. She was sure her jaw was on the ground but Mother was moving fast and she dragged them all the way through to the back, to a small alley. Here, Mother, somewhat nervously Minerva noted, whipped out her wand for the second time Minerva’d ever seen and gave her a small smile.

“I’m going to transfigure your clothes, okay?” Mother said gently. Minerva frowned. 

“Transfigure?” 

Mother nodded. “It means to change, to transform.” And with a wave of her wand, Minerva was no longer downed in old jeans and a thin coat but wonderful light green robes that were like some of the ones the witches were wearing in pub and with another wave, Mother was wearing robes in a similar fashion, though a slightly darker green. 

“Wow!” 

Mother laughed a little. “Your father isn’t the only one in the family with skill,” she quipped and Minerva grinned. Then, she tapped her wand on the brick wall before them. Slowly, the bricks parted—yes, _parted_ —and Mother stepped through, giving Minerva a hand. 

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight she saw. Not London, not The Leaky Cauldron, not Mother summoning bloody _birds_ in the middle of their kitchen. 

If Minerva thought The Leaky Cauldron bled of magic, she should’ve bit her tongue. She must’ve gasped or her jaw was on the ground or yelled or something because Mother chuckled and gave a bright smile. 

“Welcome, my dear, to Diagon Alley.” 

Welcome indeed. 

Minerva would be a liar if she said she remembered much of her first trip to Diagon Alley. Later, if you asked her, she would’ve vaguely mentioned something about brooms everywhere and receiving her wand and you would’ve thought that she was just exaggerating, but as they were back on the train home—even after Minerva learnt about Apparition from the saleslady at Flourish and Blotts and asked her mother why they hadn’t just done that instead of taking a four hour train ride—there really _wasn’t_ much she remembered from the absolute blur of magic. 

Mother had shrank her things into the trunk they’d bought and while Minerva wondered where the money had come from, she really couldn’t think too much about it because she had her own _wand_ and her own books and new robes—that’s what witches wore—and Mother looked so proud when she first tried them on and she thought she saw Mother’s eyes tear a little when Ollivander—that was the name of the nice old man who owned the wand shop—complimented her on her wand work when Minerva had never even _seen_ a wand until a couple of weeks ago and her heart was simply racing on the train ride home. 

She couldn’t wait to show Robert and Malcom and Papa—

The gleam must’ve fallen out of her eye or something stupidly visible like that because Mother patted her leg and looked right at her and Minerva knew she _knew._

She didn’t show Robert or Malcom and she tucked her trunk into her closet, snug underneath her clothes and only took out her textbooks at night to read by dim lamplight, or sometimes, candlelight. 

September 1st couldn’t come sooner. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I just walk through?” Minerva asked, looking skeptically at the wall between platforms nine and ten. Even though Mother had taken her on a secret trip to Diagon Alley and begged her mother to show her more spells—she had a wand now!—there were just some things that Minerva had still to wrap her head around. 

“Yes, dear,” Mother replied, grabbing onto the trolley handle. Minerva frowned a little and glanced around them, making sure that there was no one to see. “Ready?” 

Minerva nodded. 

“One, two, three—” 

She closed her eyes when they went through, as if they would actually run right into the brick wall, as if this was all a dream after all and this was Minerva waking up, but when she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that there were people everywhere, a little like London and a lot more like Diagon Alley. Where King’s Cross had a couple people on the platform, there were witches and wizards in robes and hats and wands and there were some in muggle clothes, but not as much and Minerva immediately felt shy in her somewhat threadbare outfit that Mother hadn’t transfigured this time—“you’ll be wearing robes, anyways, Minerva”—because they were on her father’s Reverend’s salary and there were three children in the family and Minerva was the only girl and there were just some things she had to give up.

Her mother gasped a little and then, there it was. A giant, gleaming red train that was bigger than anything Minerva had ever seen, brighter than anything Minerva’d ever seen, and she turned to Mother and saw that she had tears in her eyes and Minerva wrapped her arms around her waist, with all the understanding and comfort and meaning that an eleven-year-old girl should’ve never had.

“Let’s get you on the train, shall we?” Mother said, discreetly wiping at her eyes. Father, Robert, and Malcom had stayed home for the day because muggles weren’t allowed on the platform and Malcom was a little too young and if Malcom was staying home, well it wasn’t quite fair if Robert was allowed to go—from his small tantrums—and Minerva suspected that Mother wanted this day for just them. 

They handed the ticket-master the small slip provided in Minerva’s envelope all those months ago and right at the door, Mother pulled her into a tight hug and rested her chin on Minerva’s head. Minerva hugged her back just as firm, just as warm, burying her face into Mother’s dress. 

“You best be writing once a week, missy,” she said sternly, waging a finger and bopped her nose. 

“Yes Mother,” Minerva replied obediently, even though she knew that she’d be writing at least once a day. “I’ll make sure to use the school owls.” 

Mother smiled, brushing her bangs out of her face. “Hogwarts is the most beautiful place. You will enjoy it so much, my dear.” Her eyes were misting up again and Minerva gave her a bright grin. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, with spells and magic to show you!” Minerva claimed, standing up proudly. Mother sniffed a little.

“You’re just like your father,” she whispered, brushing Minerva’s cheek with a finger. “I love you and he wishes he could be here right now.”

“I know,” Minerva replied, hugging her mother again. “I love you too.” 

“Now, enough of this! Let’s get you onto this train,” Mother said brightly, hefting Minerva’s luggage through the door. Minerva clambered on through, grabbing a seat at the nearest window, pressing a hand against the glass. Mother’s hand met hers. 

“Remember to study hard!” she called, though her voice was muffled. Minerva nodded and said  _ I love you  _ over and over and over again, until the horn rang and the train left the station and Minerva never quite stopped waving, not until the platform was a small speck in the distance and another girl knocked on the side of her cabin. 

“Can I sit here?” she asked, properly and politely, like any young girl had been taught. Minerva knew that, because she was raised like that too. 

“Yes,” Minerva answered, because she was polite and also because she didn’t really know anyone and hadn’t really made friends at school in Caithness, and that was something she wanted at Hogwarts, the place that her mother wanted to call home, the place that her mother seemed to have left her heart. 

“My name’s Augusta,” the girl said, sticking out her hand. She had shoulder-length brown hair and she had a high nose, kind of like Minerva, and she had bright hazel eyes that caught the light just right and Minerva thought that she looked quite lovely. “Augusta Fawley.” 

“Minerva,” she replied, shaking Augusta’s hand. “Minerva McGonagall.”

Augusta set her luggage underneath the seats and sat down gracefully. “McGonagall? Haven’t heard of that name. Muggle?” 

Minerva nodded. “My father,” she said. “My mother is a witch though,” she added. Was this something people cared about? 

“What house do you think you’ll be Sorted into?” Augusta asked, looking at her sharply. Minerva felt a little unnerved. 

“I’m not quite sure,” Minerva replied honestly. She had read her textbooks cover to cover, especially  _ Hogwarts: A History  _ and they all sounded appealing. All with traits that her parents had taught her to have and if anything, Minerva was at Hogwarts to learn and to grow and she just wanted to make her father and mother proud and show cool spells to Robert and make Malcom’s teddy dance. “Maybe Ravenclaw. My mother was in Ravenclaw.” 

“A smarty, I see,” Augusta remarked and Minerva tensed up a little. “Both my parents were in Gryffindor and I expect I’ll be as well.” Augusta sounded smug. 

“From what I read, Gryffindors sounded a little stupid more than brave,” Minerva quipped. 

“From what I read,” Augusta mocked and Minerva tilted her head. 

And then they both burst into laughter. 

The train ride was five hours but it flew by faster than the birds Mother first summoned in their kitchen because Augusta told her all about her annoying younger brother and how she wasn’t sure if she was going to be in Gryffindor and how there was that pressure from her pureblood family and Minerva told about Robert and Malcolm and how excited they both were when she got her Hogwarts letter and how Robert would be coming in three years and Malcom six and she talked about how Hogwarts was the dream and Augusta agreed and she wondered if she would be sorted into the same house as Augusta but then realised that it didn’t really matter because Augusta had, around twenty minutes into the conversation, proudly proclaimed Minerva as her friend and Minerva’s chest burst and she grabbed Augusta’s hand from across the aisle and Augusta said that she would buy them snacks from the trolley. 

She thought about how her first friend wasn’t maybe the nicest person in the world but that was okay because she was kind and one more thing she learnt that day was that there was a difference between the two. 

It was dark by the time the train reached Hogwarts, as they travelled through the Scottish highlands that Minerva had grown up with, with its grassy mountains and clear creeks and grey skies that made Minerva want to write to her father more than anything in the world. 

“First years! First years over here!” a loud voice proclaimed, echoing through the platform as they filed out one by one, small, uncertain, quite nervous, but Augusta was by her side and Minerva calmed a little. The air was fresh and the sun was just starting to set and Minerva was on her way to the next journey of her life. 

“Come on, let’s go,” the tallest man Minerva’d ever seen said, shuffling all of them eleven-year-olds into a little group. “Name’s Hagrid, Keeper of Keys ‘n Grounds at Hogwarts,” he introduced gruffly. “Come on, hurry along.” 

Minerva shared a glance with Augusta. She shrugged her shoulders. Hagrid—she thought that was his name—guided them to the docks right by the train, where they were multiple small boats. 

“Five each to a boat! No more, unless you want to go for a swim,” Hagrid instructed and Minerva and Augusta carefully climbed into one, making sure that it wouldn’t tip, as another girl and two other boys joined them. 

“Amelia Bones,” the girl said, self-assuredly, a little like Augusta had, but she had this auburn-ish hair and bright blue eyes. Minerva smiled at her. 

“Minerva, and this is Augusta,” she replied. She was about to say more, to ask her how the train ride went because Minerva liked Augusta as a friend and having more than one couldn’t be a bad thing but the boat lurched forward and they were sailing through the fog that was starting to settle and just on the horizon, just at the edge of their view, appeared the most magnificent castle Minerva had ever seen. 

It was settled on a small hill, just a little further than the end of the lake, and Minerva heard herself gasp. She wasn’t the only one. Augusta sucked in a breath beside her and Amelia leaned against the edge of the boat. The small lights on the sides lit everything up against the slow dark and Minerva never thought she’d seen anything so beautiful. 

Mother was right. 

It wasn’t anything like The Leaky Cauldron or Diagon Alley but it was magic all the same and Minerva couldn’t do anything but stop and stare.

Hagrid shuffled them out of the boats just as he had them in and led them up the steps to Hogwarts. It was even bigger as they got closer. Minerva mentioned this to Augusta, who laughed a little and Amelia snickered as she overheard. The gatekeeper led them up many, many flights of stairs that Minerva was a little winded but she was just reminded of hikes with her father and it made her smile a bit.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hagrid greeted, as they reached the bottom of a very grand, very large staircase. Minerva found that a lot of things in Hogwarts were very large and very grand. The man that Minerva had seen in the newspaper two years ago stood at the very top, dressed in what Minerva thought were very eccentric—though she had to admit, she didn’t know much about wizarding fashion (her textbooks didn’t cover much of it)—navy blue robes with stars all over them and a bright blue hat. He looked very much like a wizard, Minerva concluded. 

They were all huddled into the chamber, almost as close as sardines, with the nervousness bouncing off each other in waves. Minerva grabbed Augusta’s hand. Augusta gave her a small squeeze. 

“Thank you Hagrid,” Professor Dumbledore said and there were gasps among the crowd. “Welcome to Hogwarts, as some of you already know, my name is Professor Dumbledore. I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts and it is my pleasure to welcome you, our first years, to a new year of learning.” Then, he clapped his hands together. 

“Now, the Hat will explain everything once we arrive, so shall we?” he said, giving them all a smile and a wink and Minerva immediately liked him. She liked Transfiguration, she supposed. Out of all her books, it was  _ A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration  _ that she enjoyed the most and after all, it was the second spell Mother had  _ really  _ shown her. Her hands itched at her wand, wanting to practice magic. To wave it like her mother had. Professor Dumbledore turned with a flourish of his blue robes and led them, single-file, through the large doors behind him. 

If Minerva thought her jaw dropped when she saw the outside of Hogwarts, it was nothing compared to the Great Hall—she caught the plaque on the side of the wall. The ceiling was the night sky, charmed she knew, with candles floating up above, surprisingly not dripping wax, with ghosts floating about and long, long tables across the middle with each of the house mascots throughout. It was just as her textbooks had described, but better in sixty thousand different ways. She heard Augusta gasp, but louder this time and she was sure that she wasn’t the only one. 

There was a hat on the stool at the front, almost like on a stage, and when it opened its mouth, Minerva knew that it was The Hat Professor Dumbledore was talking about (and the one mentioned in  _ Hogwart: A History _ ). It sang about the four houses in verse and Minerva’s hands were clammy and she glanced around and caught Professor Dumbledore’s eye, who looked at her over his spectacles and gave her a small smile. She smiled back and her hands weren’t as clammy anymore. Well. Maybe that was because she wiped them on her robes. 

Augusta was called before her and she sat on the stool for less than a minute before the hat called Gryffindor and Minerva hoped, crossed her fingers and asked God, like she’d done only a couple of times and seen her father do, if she could be in Gryffindor too. 

“McGonagall, Minerva!” Professor Dumbledore called lifting up the hat and he winked at her when her unsteady legs carried her up the three steps to the stool. She sat down as calmly as she could, as properly as she could, as her schoolteacher had taught her in class in Caithness. 

_ McGonagall huh?  _ the Hat said loudly in her ears. 

_ I am a bit loud, aren’t I? _ What? 

_ Sorry about that. Some people do think of me that way, unfortunately. Well, I’ve been around long enough that I don’t really care at this point. You’ll find time does that do you.  _

How long have you been around for? Minerva asked, as Professor Dumbledore had dropped the Hat completely on her head and over her eyes. 

_ Longer than I could explain. Anyways, we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you! Quite a brain I see here; your mother was Isobel Ross, was she not? Brilliant at Charms. She did well in Ravenclaw.  _

She wouldn’t mind Ravenclaw, Minerva knew. The house of the intelligent. But she also thought about Augusta and maybe a little about Amelia too, who was Sorted second and now beside Augusta at Gryffindor table. 

_ There’s a yearning to fit in. To please. Understandable at this age, but Slytherin wouldn’t work. Too much of your own convictions here.  _

What on  _ Earth _ was that supposed to mean? 

_ Stubborn, certainly a Gryffindor a little. But also, kind, grown up knowing the importance of kindness, you don’t see much of that from someone your age.  _

Minerva wanted to kick the Hat out of her thoughts. 

_ A bit of a spit-fire here, ah, I see. But where to put you? Where to put you?  _

Minerva’s hands gripped the edge of the seat. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Amelia’s and Augusta’s Sortings were definitely not this long. 

Why don’t you just get on with it? 

_ Sorting is a delicate process, young lady. A very important decision here. What a brain of yours indeed! You would do well in Ravenclaw, surely. But lots of potential for Gryffindor as well. Where to put you…  _

Minerva’s hands were sweating. She thought that if the Hat was taking any longer, her palms would be dripping. There were a couple of moans and groans from around her, what in the world of Merlin is taking her so long, and Hatstall, a word that Minerva hadn’t heard before but could guess what it meant. 

_ A conviction I haven’t seen in a long time. In a very long time, indeed.  _

Would you make a damned decision? 

The Hat was quiet for a little. 

_ Much to think about.  _

Could you think faster? 

At long last, when Minerva thought she was going to fall over, the Hat called “GRYFFINDOR” and she dropped of relief and Professor Dumbledore pulled the old thing from over her eyes and she almost tripped over her feet scrambling over to the right table but Augusta was there and Amelia was there too and a couple of other students yelled that “we got the Hatstall!” and Minerva wanted to hide underneath the benches but the night sky was swirling above them and Minerva felt, just for a little, that she didn’t miss home as much. 

Her first class was Transfiguration with Professor Dumbledore and Minerva woke up two hours early—both a product of her father’s habits and nerves—and she wanted to actually find the Great Hall from her common room for breakfast and then actually find Professor Dumbledore’s classroom afterwards. 

She shared a dorm with Augusta, Amelia, Eleanor Branstone, and Alina Singh, of which she very quickly learnt—after years with two younger brothers—that sharing a room with four other girls wasn’t much better. However, instead of her typical annoyance with Augusta’s, Amelia’s, and Alina’s antics—Eleanor was a little quiet and hadn’t really said anything the first night—she joined in with their laughter and the noise and Minerva wondered if this was what it was like for Robert and Malcom, to never feel to reprimand, to be the parent when Mother and Papa weren’t around. 

When the clock had struck eleven, they had all crawled back into their beds, with exhausted “Good nights” echoed throughout and once Minerva had drawn up the curtains to her bed, she dug through her trunk for her quill and parchment—feeling very fancy, since she hadn’t touched them at all at home—and wrote to Mother and Papa all about her first day, about Hogwarts and how beautiful it was, about Augusta and how excited she was about her first class and how she missed Robert and Malcom (though don’t tell them that!) and she’d be home for Christmas before they knew it. She peeked out of the window, high up in Gryffindor tower and looked down over the grounds. 

They were lush and green, like they were at home and she wondered if Mother and Papa were in bed like they normally would be at this time, if they had a special dinner or if it was like every other night, just her chair was empty. Wondered if anything had changed when she left. 

She let the ink dry and rolled up the parchment into a scroll like she’d seen with Augusta earlier in the evening. Then, she pulled out her Charms textbook and practiced her first spell. 

Her hands were steady even though she didn’t feel it and read the instructions for  _ Lumos _ twelve times before she rehearsed the wand movement like she did when she was at home. Just like it’d been in her bedroom, she studied by candlelight, but this time she could feel the magic more, as if it was right in front of her and all she had to do was reach out and grab it. 

“ _ Lumos _ ,” she whispered. 

Her hand tingled a little and a small spark appeared at the end of her wand, pulsing slightly and then disappearing. Minerva grinned. 

She practiced the spell until she could hold it for a full minute and then promptly passed out with her textbook on her lap. 

Her magical alarm clock—of which Mother had been smart enough to buy at Diagon Alley—two hours before breakfast and she took her time in the bathroom because Augusta said to wake her an hour before and Minerva didn’t want to get lost alone. 

Augusta swatted her when Minerva gently shook her, nearly taking out her eye. Minerva made sure to let her know that. 

“Next time, get your own alarm,” she quipped, ripping the blankets off of her and smiling. “Rise and shine! You asked for this.” 

Augusta just groaned and shoved her face into her pillow. Minerva laughed. Eventually, they were both bright-eyed and awake—or as awake as it was in Augusta’s terms—with their satchels over their shoulders and wands in tow, they managed to follow an upper-year student to the Great Hall and made it to breakfast with plenty of time. 

Minerva teased Augusta about the small bit of whipped cream on the corner of her mouth and Augusta retorted that she bet that Minerva’s Hatstall was between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor because of her “smart-arse” and Minerva just laughed. 

They drank their pumpkin juice and ate their pancakes and braided each other’s hair even though Minerva’s was already in her nice plaits—Augusta had very lovely, very soft hair and Minerva told her so—before the clock indicated half an hour before class and Minerva puffed up all her Gryffindor courage to ask the Prefect sitting next to them where the Transfiguration classroom was. 

“Miss?” Minerva asked politely, tapping the older, blonde-haired girl on the shoulder. She turned around, mid-bite clearly, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“Hey! What’s up?” she asked, cheerful. “Name’s Beatrice Smidgens. No need to call me miss.”

Minerva smiled back, relaxing a bit. “We were just wondering if you could tell us where the Transfiguration classroom is?” Augusta nodded beside her. Beatrice grinned. 

“Got Dumbledore, don’t you?” 

They both nodded. “He’s on the first floor, so just head left out of the Great Hall to the staircase that’s always kind of weird—you’ll know it when you see it—and head down the second corridor with the painting of a ugly knight—you’ll also know it when you see it—it’ll be the first door.” 

Minerva felt like she should’ve written it down and they both gave Beatrice chirpy “thank you’s” and gave each other a look. 

“So,” Augusta began. “I’ll lead the way?” 

Minerva smiled a little and elbowed her. “You weren’t the Hatstall between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, were you?” she teased and Augusta laughed. “Come on now,” she grabbed Augusta’s hand. “Let’s go together.” 

With some effort (that was a lie, it was  _ a lot _ of effort) and some time (also a lie, they barely made it by the bell), the two of them fumbled their way to the Transfiguration classroom and Minerva wondered why on Earth they weren’t given maps of this crazy place. Moving staircases and paintings galore—sometimes it was like she was in one of those films that she’d always wanted to see but Mother never took her to. 

There were two seats at the very back and Minerva wished that they’d woken up even earlier so she could at least be closer to the front. Looking around, she wondered how her other classmates seemed to have found the room with ease. Was there something she missed? 

“Welcome, everyone to first year Transfiguration!” Professor Dumbledore announced, sweeping into the room right after Minerva had sat down, scaring her a little. She thought she saw Augusta jump in her seat a bit, out of the corner of her eye. 

“Here, you will learn the basics and fundamentals of the study of Transfiguration. Let me preface the course with this however: if you do not listen to my explicit instructions and rules within this classroom, do not expect to leave fully intact.” Professor Dumbledore grinned a little at this. The class was silent. “Transfiguration is a very difficult area of study—one of the most difficult here at Hogwarts. In order to succeed, hard work and dedication will be required. Like all classes, points will be given or demerited to your respective houses based on performance. Your mark, of which we’ll go into further detail later on, will come from your term work and a final exam.” He spoke sternly but there was a bright twinkle in his eye and he finished with a small smile. 

“Any questions?” 

Not a single hand was raised. Professor Dumbledore just arched an eyebrow and spun around—causing his bright violet robes to flare—flicking his wand at the chalkboard, causing text to appear in a looped handwriting. 

“Now, please open your textbooks to page five. We will begin with some theory today,” he instructed and Minerva flipped through the pages that she had already read.

Professor Dumbledore was very bright and exciting to watch to teach, Minerva concluded. He seemed to bring the information from the textbook right to life—sometimes literally, though that was also something Minerva found that was pretty applicable to most things magical—and she watched in interest as he turned a matchstick into a needle with no more than a flick of his wand and a precise incantation. 

“Now, as we have reviewed the spell, the theory, and the wand movement, it is your turn,” he said. The sparkle had returned to his eye and Minerva couldn’t help but grin. Professor Dumbledore raised his wand again and small matchboxes flew to each student’s desk. Augusta looked at Minerva nervously and Minerva gave her a reassuring smile. 

“It’s okay, we can help each other out.” Augusta smiled. 

Minerva couldn’t wait. She could finally apply her theories, after nearly a year of just reading, pouring over her books. The magic tingled at her fingers again, like it had last night with lumos. She took a deep breath and mimicked the movement once more. 

“ _ Verto par, _ ” she said, precisely and firmly, much louder than she had with  _ Lumos _ because she was in a classroom now and not her dormitory. Her hand was steady and the magic rushed through, warm and comforting. 

She watched as the match slowly transformed before her eyes into a thin, silver needle. Minerva held it up into the light to inspect it further. It had its proper thread-hole and was sharp to the tip, though maybe not as sharp as she’d liked. 

She tried again, and again, and again, until all the matches were transformed into thin, perfect needles. 

Augusta gasped as she looked over Minerva’s shoulder. 

“How?” 

Her shock was interrupted by the shriek of a Hufflepuff student who had accidentally lit the match instead of transfiguring it and Professor Dumbledore had calmly extinguished it as he walked over, with a silent flick of his wand. Minerva wondered how he could perform magic like that so flawlessly, but then again, he  _ had _ beat Grindelwald. 

Professor Dumbledore walked around a little afterwards as Minerva helped Augusta with her matches, of which she was having a little trouble with. 

“How did you do that, Min?” Augusta asked exasperated, after what had to have been her thirtieth attempt. Minerva wrinkled her nose at the name. 

“I just followed the textbook,” Minerva replied, because really, that’s what she did. 

“I’m afraid you’re being too modest, Miss?” Professor Dumbledore interrupted them and Minerva nearly jumped in her seat, again. 

“McGonagall, sir,” she replied hastily, looking up at him. He was very tall. 

“May I?” he gestured towards her row of ten needles. Minerva nodded. He held one up, inspecting it closely and smiled. “Congratulations, Miss McGonagall, you have completed a feat I have not seen in many, many years. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.” 

If she was at home, she would’ve smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. But here, at school, she held back. Just a little. 

“Thank you, sir. And if I may ask,” she started, feeling bold. 

“You may.” 

“How long is ‘many, many years’?” 

Professor Dumbledore gave a sly grin. 

“Not since myself when I was in your year,” he replied. Augusta gaped and Minerva grinned, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “Since we still have thirty minutes of class left, why don’t you turn the needles back to matches? You will find the instructions on page—”

“Seven, sir,” Minerva supplied. Professor Dumbledore looked a little taken aback. 

“Have you read through the entire textbook?” 

Minerva nodded. “Yes sir.”

She could feel Augusta rolling her eyes beside her. “I got my Hogwarts letter nearly a year ahead and Mother took me to Diagon Alley shortly after,” she explained, rambling somewhat. “Sir,” she added, looking at him sheepishly. 

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, then. Miss McGonagall, show me those matches once again, and another five points to Gryffindor.” 

With that, Professor Dumbledore moved onto the students in front of them and Augusta grabbed her arm. 

“Did you  _ really _ read through the entire textbook?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Who am I kidding. I’ve only known you for two days, Min, but after that Hatstall, I’d be willing to bet that you read all the textbooks.” 

Minerva just blushed. Augusta laughed and they both went back to their wandwork. 

Minerva left class with a spring in her step as they headed to Charms and she thought about the box of matches she cheekily left right in the middle of Professor Dumbledore’s desk and breezed through Charms with just as much skill as her mother had—or at least what Professor Florrish had said—and bounded through her first day (Potions, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts) with Augusta right by her side and Amelia later on and found herself with a pile of homework at the end of the day but a bright, bright smile on her face. 

As she collapsed into bed, she made a mental note to find the library the next day.

Her first week went by quick. There was Potions and there was Transfiguration—of which Professor Dumbledore had discretely handed her the textbook for the second years’ class and she had spent all her free time pouring over—and there was Charms and there was History of Magic and then Herbology and then Astronomy and then Defense Against the Dark Arts and it had taken a little over a week for Minerva to finally land at her first Flying lesson, of which, if she had to admit (and she wasn’t), was what she was looking forward to most. 

Madam Faunt, who was a very small, very thin lady who looked like she could’ve been knocked over the wind was their Flying instructor and she lined them all up into two rows, with a broom beside them. Augusta was in front of her and Amelia beside and Amelia, whom had already been flying before—“it’s the greatest thing, Minerva, honestly” with Augusta’s quipped “it really isn’t, Min, believe me”—and Augusta, who had as well, but clearly did not have a good relationship with it. 

Madam Faunt, who was just half a head taller than Minerva, droned on and on about the rules and about how important it was to follow them and while Minerva full-heartedly agreed, she was simply itching to get on her broom, which looked to be a dingy little thing, somewhat scratched up with scruffs over all on the handle. It said Cleansweep Four engraved on the end. It was also screaming at Minerva to pick it up and hop off on it into the sky. 

“Now, please raise your dominant hand and say ‘Up!’,” Madam Faunt instructed and Minerva’s hand tingled a little, like it did whenever she completed a spell. Amelia gave her a wicked grin.

“Up!” she commanded, firm and clear. The broom shot right into her hand and Amelia smiled even wider. Minerva looked at her nervously and she gave her a small nod. “Don’t worry, Min. You’ve nailed every piece of magic so far.” 

Minerva took a deep breath and held her right hand over the broom, loudly saying “up!” with all her might. The broom quivered a little and flailed around on the ground, but did not, to Minerva’s dismay, shoot right into her hand like Amelia’s had. She tried again. This time, the broom lifted a good inch or two off the ground and then fell back again. 

Come on, Minerva. Third time’s the charm. 

“Up!” 

The broom smacked her right in the palm, loud and strong and firm and she gripped it tight, at how it fit right into her hand. She smiled at Amelia, who gave her a thumbs-up. Augusta already had her broom in hand and Minerva grinned even wider, thinking about how the three of them could go flying in their spare time, sailing through the winds into the Scottish Highlands and maybe, just maybe, if she flew far enough, maybe she would see home. 

Minerva placed the broomstick back on the ground and practiced again and again and again until the broom flew into her hand on the first try, where it was firm and perfect and her hands shook, just a little, at the thought of flying.

The day was bright and the sky was clear and Minerva hopped onto a broom for the first time in her life and she was a little shaky at first, but then she was off, like a rocket, with the wind in her face, loud and muffling in her ears but she was flying, just like those birds Mother had summoned in their kitchen in what seemed like a lifetime ago and Amelia was shouting beside her and Augusta was right behind her and she could see the whole school from up here and really, there was nothing quite like it. 

She wondered if she could beg her mother for a broom next year. As she walked to her next class with Amelia on her left and Augusta on her right, unable to shut up about how wonderful flying was and Amelia gave Augusta a smug look and Augusta just stuck her tongue out back, she spotted a flyer on the bulletin board just outside of the changing rooms about Quidditch team trials and she just knew she had to make it on for next year. 

She didn’t tell Amelia or Augusta yet—because she’d only flown once and it’d be completely laughable—but she was going to. She arrived to Transfiguration with the largest smile on her face and Professor Dumbledore gave her a queer look but didn’t mention anything and for the first time, Minerva had difficulty concentrating on her classwork, daydreaming about how the wind felt against her face and the height she was at and how there was no fear at all and how for the first time, she felt truly free. 

A month later, she was in the stands at her first Quidditch game, decked out in a Gryffindor scarf and hat that she had written back to Mother asking money to buy from the school, with Amelia on her right and Augusta on their right and the match was Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw and Minerva didn’t know what was going to faster, her heart or the players flying around the pitch. Her eyes darted back and forth between the Chasers, one young girl who looked on a few years older than Minerva and two boys, who were most likely sixth or seventh years and whenever Gryffindor swung the Quaffle through one of the hoops on the other side, Minerva cheered louder than she had,  _ ever.  _

Gryffindor lost the game but Minerva couldn’t stop talking about how the Seeker—Richard Crawley—had nearly stood up on his broom to reach for the snitch and how the girl Chaser—Beatty Snippet—had almost swung upside down to get a goal and how Minerva wanted to be on that pitch, to feel the wind in her ears as she raced down the pitch, faster than lighting. Augusta smiled and Amelia laughed and in that moment, there was nothing Minerva wanted more. 

Christmas snuck up on her. Drowned in her studies and her occasional flying practices that she and Amelia would eek out and beg Madam Faunt to let them out for just a little and for a while, it would just be her and Amelia in their own little world as they looped around each other, flying all the way to the Astronomy tower, hopping off their brooms, and watching the sunset as their feet dangled off the edge, just tempting death, just a little. 

One day, when Minerva was brave enough, when she summoned all of her Gryffindor courage that The Hat told her that she had, she asked Amelia if she wanted to sneak out in the early mornings to go flying and Amelia’s eyes gleamed and she grabbed Minerva’s hand and that night, she set her alarm to 5:00 AM and went to bed dreaming of flying home and showing Mother and Father and Robert and Malcom everything she’d learnt.

She awoke with a start, her alarm blaring in her ear and she slammed her hand over it, almost jumping out of bed, running over to Amelia’s, ripping the covers off of her. 

Amelia almost yelped and Minerva shushed her. 

“You want to be caught?” 

Amelia blearily rubbed her eyes and Minerva told her to be ready in ten minutes as she ran to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and changed. Amelia was holding two brooms in her hand when Minerva came back. 

“Amelia! Did you get them beforehand?” 

Amelia nodded, smug and handed one of them to Minerva. “Next year, I’ll have my own broom,” she said proudly, so sure of herself that Minerva was just a little envious. Minerva smiled and they raced down the stairs, sneaking through the strangely empty and quiet common room and through the hallways, quietly padding to the Quidditch changing rooms that Minerva knew that Madam Faunt almost never locked, with Minerva leading and Amelia looking over their shoulders, they ran out onto the pitch, the grass soft and wet, the sky still dark but starting to lighten, as the sun was soon to rise. 

Minerva grinned at Amelia. 

“I’ll race you to the first mountain,” she whispered, jumping onto her broom and heading off, the wind cold and strong against her face, her hands gripping onto the broom as she soared through the skies, as Amelia was fast behind her and Minerva laughed as she did a loop around her friend, admired the way her hair swept in the breeze and how she looked when she laughed. For a second, the world fell away and it was just Minerva and Amelia, together on their brooms, them and the sky and the wind and the sun. 

“I’ll race you to the Astronomy tower,” Amelia yelled as the rays of the sun started to peek through and the fog on the lake began to lift. Minerva grinned.

“Beat you there,” she shouted back, hunching down over her broom, snapping up to reach the tower and gracefully came to a stop right as they reached the rail.

“I win!” Amelia said, pumping her fist into the air. Minerva stubbornly shook her head. 

“No, I did!” 

“I did!” 

“I did!” 

Minerva punched Amelia lightly in the shoulder and hopped off her broom and over the railing. 

“Come, let’s watch the sunrise,” she simply said, leaning over and pulling Amelia close. 

“Okay,” Amelia said. 

And they watched the sun rise together. 

Minerva went home for Christmas, like Augusta and Amelia had. Mother had constantly written, all about Papa and Robert and Malcolm and when she was there at King’s Cross, Minerva jumped into her arms, hugging her tight. When Mother asked how term was, she couldn’t stop talking. She went on and on about her classes, about how Transfiguration was the best and how amazing Professor Dumbledore was, about Potions and how it was kind of like science back in Caithness, about Charms and how Professor Florrish said that you, Mother, were great at Charms, about flying and how she was going to try out for the Quidditch team next year. About Augusta and Amelia and Alina and Eleanor, whom they finally coaxed a little out of her shell and all her classmates and teachers and God, Mother you were so right—Hogwarts is amazing. 

Like last time, Mother had brought her wand, shrunk all of Minerva’s things so they could fit into her pocket and warned her that they were going to Apparate and Minerva nodded and braced herself and when they landed with a loud pop in Minerva’s bedroom, she immediately lurched forward and threw up on the carpet. 

Mother patted her back and cleaned it up with a flick of her wand. Then, she tucked it away and Minerva never saw it again until Mother brought her back to King’s Cross. 

Christmas in the McGonagall family was somewhat of an affair, to be sure. Minerva came home to hugs from Robert and Malcolm, who both jumped up and down and begged her to tell them all and Hogwarts and she rushed into Papa’s arms, whispering in his ear about how much she missed him and how much she missed home and how glad she was to be back. 

“We missed you too, lass,” he said, picking her up like she was small again and barely the height of his knees. “Now, Mother tells me that you’ve been doing well in your classes?” 

Minerva nodded brightly when he set her back down. “Professor Dumbledore”—his eyebrows raised slightly at the name—“said that I had a natural aptitude with Transfiguration and he’s already moved me onto next year’s material!” she said proudly. She didn’t miss her father’s smile drop, just a little. “Anyways, enough about me! What did you two imps get up to when I was gone?” 

And she chased Robert and Malcom around the living like they were small, small kids again while Mother and Papa laughed and Mother’s heavenly meals wafted from the kitchen. 

On Christmas Eve, Papa had a drink—he had one, just one, once a year—with Minerva on his lap and he looked her in the eye.

“I love you,” he said, seriously. Minerva nodded and crawled onto his chest, burrowing her face. 

“I love you too, Papa,” she said back. 

“Don’t you ever forget.” 

“I won’t.” 

Minerva was back to Hogwarts and before she knew it, exams were creeping and her first year was coming to an end and she thought about everything she’d learnt and everything she’d seen and all the people she’d met and on the last day of school, the day after she’d finished all of her exams, she raced down to Professor Dumbledore’s office and knocked thrice, firmly on the door. 

“Come in,” he called through and Minerva opened it. “Ah, Miss McGonagall! Please, have a seat.” 

Minerva nodded. “Thank you, sir.” 

“How can I help you?” he asked politely, sitting back with a twinkle in his eye. 

“I was wondering if you could lend me a copy of the third year’s Transfiguration textbook for the summer?” 

Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, but just waved a hand and a book came flying from his shelves and landed in her hands. 

“Your wish is my command, Miss McGonagall,” he quipped, bowing his head. Minerva grinned. 

“And do you think I could maybe—”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Sorry, I haven’t even looked at your exams yet.” 

Minerva slumped a little while Professor Dumbledore chuckled. 

“I will say, Miss McGonagall, that you have nothing to worry about.” 

“But—”

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “My dear, you have just asked me for a third year textbook on Transfiguration. I am quite sure that you have nothing to fear.” 

His eyes twinkled and Minerva felt her face go hot.

“Thanks so much, Professor,” Minerva said, getting up as she glanced at the clock. “Have a good summer!” 

“You as well,” he said, standing up and walking her to the door. 

“You sure you don’t have the exams marked?” 

Professor Dumbledore laughed a little again. 

“No, my dear, I most assuredly do not. Now, enjoy your break and don’t leaf through those textbooks until at least a week in,” he sternly said, but his eyes twinkled behind his glasses and he winked. 

Minerva ran to the platform, book in tow, waving to Professor Dumbledore on her way out, glancing over her shoulder and he was still standing there as she left through the great, big gates. 

Jumped into her seat with Augusta and Amelia and promised the both of them that they’d write and maybe, just maybe, she could convince her mother to let her go to Amelia’s to practice some flying because she was going to make it onto the Quidditch team next year and she couldn’t imagine a whole summer without magic when she had spent a whole year surrounded by it.

Said her goodbyes on the platform and hugged her friends right before she barrelled into her mother’s arms and they were on their way home, home, home and Minerva’s heart beat firmly in her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa, this was a bit of a long one. hope you liked and tell me what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

Minerva’s exam results came by an owl that swept through their kitchen window and left in a hurry, dropping the envelope onto the counter before Minerva could even get up from the table where she was reviewing some Transfiguration notes. 

Her hands shook as she broke the seal and her brothers’ laughter came in through the open window and her mother was outside and Minerva gasped loudly enough that when Mother came back in, she frowned and hurried over to her side. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Minerva tried to say something, anything, but her tongue was frozen and she just shoved the parchment in Mother’s face, who beamed and gasped. 

“Minerva! These are perfect scores!”

Minerva nodded, mouth dry. 

“Congratulations, my dear,” she said, patting her arm. She gave Minerva a wink. “How about Cranachan for dessert?” 

Minerva beamed. Suddenly, another owl swooped in, and this one, unlike the one before, it perched itself onto the sink faucet, like the owl that had delivered her Hogwarts letter. Mother grimaced a little at the sight of it and Minerva plucked the scroll from its talons before she could say anything. 

Her name was written at the top in Amelia’s loopy, somewhat-of-a-disaster-handwriting, and Minerva felt her lips quirk up. Mother looked over her shoulder, curious. 

“A boy?” she joked. 

Minerva blushed. “No,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s Amelia.” Mother just nodded and began washing up the vegetables she had harvested from their small garden. Then, she fished out a small treat for the owl and Minerva stood there, somewhat shocked. Mother, ever since she had gotten back from Hogwarts, hadn’t touched—or at least to Minerva’s knowledge—anything magical than necessary. 

Minerva read through Amelia’s letter, almost laughing at her descriptions of her younger brother, Edgar’s, antics and about their cats and how it was so boring, here at home, Minerva, I miss Hogwarts so much and then asked if Minerva wanted to come over for a day or two, to do some flying and Minerva wanted to, she wanted to so bad, she wanted to feel magic in her hands again instead of just reading about it off the pages of her textbooks. 

Mother was humming quietly as she washed up, the owl still perched at the sink. 

“Mother,” Minerva began tentatively. “Do you think I could visit my friend Amelia’s house sometime this summer?” she asked, trying to take a little advantage of her mother’s good mood. If Augusta was here, she’d call her a Slytherin. Minerva would just say that she was being resourceful. 

“Darling,” Mother said, a little sad. “How would you get there?” 

Minerva immediately faltered. “Maybe I could ask them? To pick me up and drop me off?” 

Mother looked at her carefully. “Why don’t you work it out with your friend, and then come back to me,” she replied after a while. 

Minerva beamed and hugged her mother. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed and dashed upstairs to write a letter back to Amelia. 

The owl was off in less than fifteen minutes and then Minerva was helping her mother in the kitchen and later, she told Papa about her grades and he beamed and spun her around in the living room like she was six again and Robert and Malcolm teased her but they did so with big smiles on their face and Minerva was beaming, beaming, beaming, all the way until Amelia’s mother and Amelia showed up on their doorstep, dressed in somewhat-close muggle clothes and Mrs. Bones told her to hold onto her arm tight and she said goodbye to Mother and in a flash, with a tumble of her stomach and a pop, she was in front of a beautiful manor with lush grounds and Amelia’s hand tight in hers. 

The Bones’ home was certainly the largest and nicest Minerva had ever seen, barring Hogwarts, of course. There was a modest fence around the whole property, which seemed to loom for ages and ages—it was surrounded by two hills and a lovely pond right in front of the house. Its bricks were a marvellous red and Minerva was immediately reminded of her childhood novels and the stories Papa would tell her, with Minerva perched on his knee. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Bones,” Minerva said politely, as soon as she could breath after Apparating. Mrs. Bones smiled. 

“Lovely to have you, Minerva. Amelia’s told us so much about you.” Minerva smiled. 

“Hopefully all good things!” she joked, a little. Mrs. Bones just chuckled. 

“We’re just glad Amelia here has such a good influence,” Mrs. Bones continued. 

“I told her that you were top of the class,” Amelia faux-whispered to Minerva, who raised her eyebrows. “Well? You were!”

Minerva felt her cheeks heat up but said nothing of it. 

“Well, if you ladies would like to head in, but Amelia mentioned flying, so just make sure to stay within the property’s wards,” Mrs. Bones explained politely, taking out her wand. “Treat our home as your home,” she finished, smiling at Minerva and then walking down the path. 

“Thank you!” Minerva called and the minute Mrs. Bones disappeared into the manor, Amelia grabbed her hand and tugged her along, running behind the house to a small shed. There, she wrenched the doors open and shoved a broom into Minerva’s hands. Minerva beamed, feeling the magic tingle through her fingers. It had been so long. 

“You’ve been holding out on me!” Minerva gasped, feeling the new Cleansweep Five in her hand. 

“Surprise!” Amelia shouted. “We just got them this year, after Edgar had begged Mum. He’s only nine, but he wants to be a serious Quidditch player. I told him he’d have to beat me and he still hasn’t.” 

Minerva grinned. “Race you?” 

“Bet your Outstanding grades on it, McGonagall,” Amelia shot back, hopping onto her broom and they were up in the air, soaring for the first time in what felt like ages, the wind strong and hard against her face and Amelia’s whoops loud through the air. They looped around the manor twice, Minerva swooping down and running her hand through the pond’s cool water, like she did sometimes with the Black Lake at Hogwarts, relishing in the height and the freedom and the joy of it all that she almost missed the makeshift Quidditch hoops on the property and once they landed, she asked if Amelia had Quidditch equipment. 

“Who do you think I am, Min? Some kind of heathen?” 

Minerva just laughed and watched as Amelia brought out the two beater bats and the box of Quidditch balls. 

“So, Min, we actually haven’t played Quidditch. Just a whole lot of flying,” Amelia began. 

“I’ve read all the rules,” Minerva replied, a little defensive. Amelia rolled her eyes. 

“Of course you have, but Quidditch is about _play_. How you think the game will go—things you can’t learn from a book, Min,” Amelia continued, taking out the Quaffle and throwing it to Minerva, who caught it as deftly as she could. 

“I know,” she said stiffly. “Well, you going to beat me?” 

Amelia just laughed and flew up to the hoops. 

“Try me, McGonagall,” she teased. 

“You’ll lose, Bones,” Minerva shot back, smiling. Quaffle in hand, she sped towards Amelia, aiming for the hoop, took her chance, but Amelia blocked it with a casual reach. 

“All you got? My brother can do better,” Amelia edged. Minerva grinned. 

They spent the afternoon, passing the Quaffle back and forth, scoring on each other until they lost count and the sun started to set and Mrs. Bones was calling them both in for dinner and asked Minerva if she wanted to send a quick letter home letting her mother know that she’d be back later and Minerva nodded and used one of the many owls the Bones’ family owned and wondered what it would’ve been like if she too, had grown up in a magical family, where Minerva would’ve grown up with stories of her parents’ time at Hogwarts instead of latching onto the little slips that Mother gave her, wondered if she would ever play Quidditch with Robert and Malcolm—maybe just Robert because Malcolm didn’t seem like he’d enjoy it—in another life where Mother didn’t wince just a little at Minerva’s mentions of magic and where Papa didn’t always look confused along with a bit sad, where her parents’ marriage hadn’t be torn apart by a lie that Minerva knew still hurt to this day. 

The owl flew off with a hoot and Minerva sat down for dinner similar to the Hogwarts meals but not quite and just as the sun started to fade away, challenged Amelia to another game and they played until Mrs. Bones was yelling that it was too dark and Minerva had to go home and she wanted to ask if she could come again, but wasn’t sure if it was polite so she just thanked Mrs. Bones and said goodbye to Amelia, who to her delight, told her that she’d invite Augusta next time and she’d write to Minerva and oh, Min, we’re going to have so much fun this summer. 

Minerva came home to Papa sitting in the living room, who gave her a hug and a kiss and told her to go to bed and she told him that she loved him and he said it back and she went to bed with a smile on her face and her dreams filled with brooms, Amelia, and Quidditch. 

The summer flew by quick. Before she knew it, Minerva was back on the Hogwarts Express for her second year at Hogwarts and she met up with Amelia and Augusta on the platform and she said goodbye to Mother and told her that she’d write like she always did and watched until her mother turned into a small speck on the platform.

Having spent half her summer at Amelia’s and Augusta’s houses, the three of them were basically in each other’s pockets anyways and the train ride was filled with laughter, treats, and some spells that Minerva wanted to try out but couldn’t over the summer. She talked about the homework, just a little, because Amelia was rolling her eyes and she was sure that Augusta was going to as well. Amelia gushed about how they were going to try out for the Quidditch team this year and Augusta did roll her eyes this time and said with a sniff that Quidditch was stupid but Minerva and Amelia both knew that she was joking. 

This year, instead of Hagrid leading them to the boats, they were led to carriages that pulled themselves and the three of them clambered in, laughing, talking, and joking the whole way there. Hogwarts peaked into view and Minerva couldn’t help but gasp again because there was always something about this place that was able to steal her breath away. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Augusta commented. Minerva just nodded. 

“Damn right it’s beautiful. Like our tax money doesn’t go to it,” Amelia joked. The night was dark and the air was cold but she was back at Hogwarts and the Sorting went with a breeze and God—had they ever looked that young?—she mused as she watched the First Years. Headmaster Dippet made his usual speech and she caught Professor Dumbledore’s eye at the feast and he gave her a small smile and then she was back in the common room and her dormitory—but up one floor, because they were Second Years now!—and the view was just as lovely and she couldn’t wait to fly among the grounds again, until she was in class again, and she went to bed way too late after fooling around with her dormmates, the room filled with laughter and hope and the feeling of a long, bright road ahead of them. 

They signed up for Quidditch trials the next week, when the sheet was pinned to the bulletin board in the common room, with Minerva’s neat print spelling out both of their names and this time, Minerva found out that they could actually book out the Quidditch pitch instead of sneaking out so she and Amelia practiced every single day until tryouts, to the point where Minerva showed up so exhausted in Transfiguration, she nearly fell asleep. 

“Miss McGonagall?” Professor Dumbledore asked quietly, tapping her arm. She shook her head and blinked. 

“Oh, sorry Professor,” she blurted out, immediately opening her textbook. Professor Dumbledore frowned. 

“Are you alright?” 

Minerva nodded, pulling out her wand to practice. “Yes, sir. Just a little tired.” 

Professor Dumbledore looked at her skeptically. “Getting enough sleep is vital to performance in class, _and_ on the pitch, Miss McGonagall,” he reminded sternly. Minerva nodded sharply and he moved on to help Marcus Atwood in front of her with his snail transfiguration. 

Minerva sighed and leafed through the textbook again, the text just blurring together. She thought about Quidditch and tryouts and just how badly she wanted on the team. 

Tryouts swept up before her and Minerva swore that she blinked and found herself on the pitch with a dozen other students, all lined up in their gear with their brooms and was that a Cleansweep Six she saw in the hands of Fiona Wright? She looked at her Cleansweep Four school broom, with its scratches and scruffs and she hoped that it was enough. Amelia showed up with her Five and a bright grin and a confidence that Minerva wished she wore. 

The captain of the team, seventh year Mark Finch, stood tall at the front with last year’s team in front of them, the remaining members, and Minerva knew that they had Chaser, Beater, and Keeper positions to fill. She glanced over to Amelia and wondered if she even had a chance. 

When her name was called, she walked forward with as much confidence as she could muster—Amelia had already finished and she was now watching Minerva from the stands—and the next fifteen minutes went by with a blur she remembered keeping most goals and getting a few good shots in and the wind against her face and how much she loved flying and looped her arm through Amelia’s on their way back to the common room and even if she made the team, that would be okay because she still had Amelia as her friend and that was more than anything a Quidditch game could bring her.

The results came out two days ago and Amelia was made Chaser and Minerva screamed with her when she saw and then she scanned for her name and didn’t find it but then, there it was, on the side, first underneath the title Reserves and her smile drooped a little but they told the news to Augusta who hugged them both and smiled and laughed with them and then quipped that she’d have to deal with Quidditch the whole year and Minerva laughed along as a heaviness settled in her chest, just a little. 

She thought she teared up a bit but then she blinked and she had still technically made the team and she could still go to practices with Amelia and she just had to train harder next year and then she’d make it, but tonight, she would bask in Amelia’s joy and her friend looked lovely in the firelight, she realised. 

Poured all she had into Transfiguration again, studying the third years’ textbooks, bothering Professor Dumbledore with incessant questions after class and worked a bit harder on Potions because she caught herself slipping, just a little. 

Sometimes, she still dragged Amelia up for early morning flying because why not and the sunrise was always beautiful. Went to practices with her and was able to buddy up with most of the team, even if she was a reserve and she, other than Amelia, was the only second year. Gryffindor played their first match against Hufflepuff later that year and Minerva and Augusta were still in the stands but she cheered the loudest she could when Amelia scored her first goal, confident, brave, and glowing the air. Attacked her with a bear hug when Gryffindor won and if Minerva thought she cheered loudly at her first Quidditch game, it was nothing like it was now. Augusta was right by her and the three of them made their way back to the common room, arm in arm, Amelia in the middle and all Minerva could think about was how wonderful things were and how _right_ Mother was—oh, how on Earth was anything in life supposed to top life at Hogwarts? 

Joined Augusta in the library until it closed and Christmas, like it had the year before, caught up to her before she knew it and she was on the train ride home and she was flying into Mother’s arms and when she got home, she told Robert and Malcolm all about the Quidditch team and watched with joy at how their eyes lit up and Robert was going to Hogwarts the following year and Mother and Papa watched them with a warmth in their eyes that Minerva hadn’t seen in a while. 

Minerva hoped, rather stupidly, for a broom for Christmas but she got a lovely set of notebooks along with more reading on Transfiguration that Mother got her and she hugged her so hard that she thought her back would break. The house was filled with the scent of Mother’s cooking and sometimes of Papa’s singing. 

Like always, he told her that he loved her. Like always, he also told her to never forget. Like always, Minerva said she wouldn’t. The night was long and their house was warm and they ran in the New Year with “Auld Lang Syne” in the background and as the church bells rang. 

Minerva went back to Hogwarts with a brighter step and a wider smile and hugged her friends tight and teased them all day and doubled down on her studying because exams were right around the corner—“no, they’re not, Min,” Augusta quipped—and she wanted to get ahead on Transfiguration because if she was completely honest, Professor Dumbledore’s lessons were just too easy and so were Charms and Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology and when Minerva heard that in third year, they could choose more classes, she was ecstatic.

Rushed to Professor Dumbledore’s office the minute she heard and asked him if she could take everything. 

“Miss McGonagall, there are only so many hours in the day,” he said, chuckling to himself. 

“But there’s so much magic to learn!” 

“That there is, my dear, but alas, we do have our limits,” Professor Dumbledore continued. He floated out a couple of books from his extensive, extensive shelves that Minerva wanted nothing more to just sift through. “These outline the basics of each subject. See which one you wish to drop, because you will need to.”

“Thank you very much, sir!” she exclaimed and rushed out, books heavy in hand. 

Professor Dumbledore just laughed and by the next month, Minerva’d finished her classes, picked the ones for the next year, was determined to make the Quidditch team, and laughed and joked with Amelia and Augusta on the train ride home. 

Missed Hogwarts more than anything in the world when she ran into Mother’s arms but she did miss Papa and Robert and Malcolm, as much as she’d never admit. Finished another year at the top of her class and dreamed of flying with Amelia and Augusta watching when she fell asleep and the sun setting softly in the backdrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Gay is starting... hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

Minerva blinked and Third Year was right at her and this time, she wasn’t heading to Diagon Alley with just Mother; Robert had received his Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday and Minerva was sorely tempted to find a pair of earmuffs from all his screaming because otherwise, she would hex him into the next century. Minerva loved her brother. He was foolish and incredibly bright and stubborn and very, very, _very_ loud. 

The biggest thing this summer, was not Robert’s Hogwarts letter—though he would tell you that—but Minerva begging, absolutely begging Mother to connect their fireplace to the Floo Network. After her exam results came—top scores and marks once again, Minerva brought it up gently at dinner, talking about all the work she’d put into school, how hard she was working in Transfiguration and Potions and Herbology and how she was going to take all the courses possible next year and that she just wanted to practice flying, which she couldn’t do here, she pointed out. It all came out like one of her presentations, like she was talking about the theory of transfiguring live objects, calm, collected, and Papa looked confused the whole way through and there were points Minerva thought he’d object but they all sat quietly, listening to Minerva talk and Mother smiled at the end and told her that she’d contact the Floo Network department at the Ministry. 

Minerva jumped up from her seat and barrelled into Mother, hugging her hard and then hugging Papa, gushing _thank you, thank you, thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me, I love you_ until Malcolm loudly said “ew” and everyone laughed. 

Her summer was spent flitting back and forth between her home, Augusta’s place, and Amelia’s manor, with jokes and laughter and lots, _lots_ , of flying, because Amelia was practicing for next year since Gryffindor lost out on the cup by just a smidge and Minerva was determined, more than anything to make the team. Looped around in circles with Amelia, playing one-on-one Quidditch as Mrs. Bones called them in for dinner and one day, Minerva finally mustered up the urge to ask Mother about maybe Amelia and Augusta coming over because she wanted to show them her little slice of the world, little Caithness with all its farmland and sunrises and small town air and Mother said that she’d ask Papa and Minerva nodded and went back to her textbooks, reviewing, reviewing, reviewing until Mother came up and told her that they could come over and Minerva jumped into her arms and told her that this was her best summer yet and Mother just patted her back and told her to cut up the potatoes for dinner. 

When September 1st rolled around—the first time it came too fast—Minerva was armed with fifty-eight different Quidditch plays memorized along with the entire year of Transfiguration theory under her belt along with a good portion of next year’s and everything she could possibly know about Arithmancy, Divination, and Ancient Runes. This time, though, Robert was with her but by the time they got onto the train, he seemed to have found his own little group of first year boys and Minerva just checked in half-way through the ride and they were sharing treats and she smiled to herself, embarrassed Robert a little, and then pranced back to Amelia and Augusta and continued her story about the annoying boy in her maths class back in Caithness when she’d barely known of magic at all. 

Once in the Great Hall, she watched a little nervously and scanned the group of small, tiny first years for her brother. She eventually found him, sandwiched between a taller blonde boy and a short girl with a black bob. Minerva gave him a small smile and a thumbs up, mouthing “good luck!” and Robert winked back but she could tell that he was nervous, from the way that he bit his lip and clutched his robes in his hand. 

“What house do you think he’ll be sorted into?” Augusta asked, leaning over. Amelia just scoffed. 

“We’ve only met the boy once, but he’s a Gryffindor. Almost as stubborn as our Min here,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“Hey!” Minerva said, faux-appalled. “I am not stubborn.” 

“Sure,” both Amelia and Augusta said. Minerva punched both of them lightly on the shoulder and they had to stifle their laughter as Professor Dumbledore gave them a sharp look as he was calling names. Finally, he finally got to the M’s and Professor Dumbledore called “McGonagall, Robert!” and Minerva watched as her brother, with shaky legs, walked up to the stool and almost wanted to shout to him to keep his back straight. 

The Hat debated for less than a minute before shouting “GRYFFINDOR!” and Minerva immediately leapt up, clapping hard and cheering. Professor Dumbledore plucked the hat off of Robert and he blinked a little, then ran over to her table, sitting down beside the young girl she’d seen him with earlier. Minerva smiled at him with the silent message that she’d track him down in the common room later and he just gave her another cheeky wink and she rolled her eyes. When Headmaster Dippet finally announced dinner, she wanted to flick a meatball at Robert’s face—something Mother would never allow that she always wanted to do and tell him how proud she was. (She did that, later, in front of all his friends in the middle of the common room and chuckled as his ears went red.) 

Classes came and went—even Divination, of which Minerva was losing her patience for everyday—but the main thing, other than getting Robert through his first week alive, were the upcoming Quidditch trials. A week before, Minerva was so nervous that she was shaking even in Transfiguration, something that if she tried, she could probably do in her sleep. 

She forced Amelia awake on a Saturday—of which she was greeted with an almost slap in the face—for a flying session and told her that she’d meet Amelia at the Astronomy Tower in thirty minutes because she’d known Amelia for three years now and if there was anything Minerva knew better, it was that Amelia took at least a solid fifteen minutes to really wake up and Minerva was itching to go flying now. 

With a nifty trick she’d picked up from a book in the library, she managed to partially Disillusion herself, but she still looked over her shoulder as she snuck down to the Quidditch changing rooms and broom shed. Plucked out the first one that she saw and she was off on her way, soaring through the clouds and the skies as the sun was just beginning to peek through the horizon. She looped around the Astronomy Tower a couple of times, slowly, just watching the view, as the mountains loomed over her. 

“Miss McGonagall,” a voice called and Minerva nearly fell off her broom. She whipped around, until she looked right at Professor Dumbledore, who was standing at the balcony, nursing a cup in his hands. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “It’s a little early for flying, isn’t it?” 

Minerva’s jaw must’ve dropped because she stammered a little and flew closer, avoiding his eyes. 

“ _Technically_ ,” she began and Professor Dumbledore’s lips twitched up in a smile. “I’m not breaking curfew because there’s no rule about waking up early.”

“You are right there, Miss McGonagall,” he replied, taking a sip of his mug. “But there are rules about students flying unsupervised.” 

“Quidditch teams train early in the morning all the time without Madam Flaunt!” 

“Quidditch teams are not alone,” Professor Dumbledore added, looking at her over his half-moon glasses. 

Before Minerva could reply, Amelia raced past her with a shout, her hand just skimming her hair. Minerva smiled sheepishly at Professor Dumbledore. 

“Well, technically, Professor, I’m not alone either,” she said, as Amelia halted to a stop. If she were driving a car, Minerva was sure there would’ve been a very loud screech. 

“It seems that this is a regular thing, am I wrong, Miss Bones?” 

Amelia just looked at Minerva. She wondered how many House points the professor was going to take. 

“We’re really not breaking any rules, Professor,” Minerva insisted, even though she knew that she was supposed to sign out brooms if she were to take them. “And we’re careful!” 

Professor Dumbledore just chuckled. “It’s just five points from Gryffindor this time, but do remember to be careful, girls. It would be nice to see that cup in my office once again,” he said with a smile. 

Minerva let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in. 

“Ask and ye shall receive, Professor!” Amelia exclaimed, whooping. 

“Lovely sunrise,” Professor Dumbledore just commented. Minerva looked to the horizon. She couldn’t help but agree. 

Minerva was made Chaser by the time she’d figured that she hated Divination, which was about a month into the school year and Amelia was reassigned to Keeper as Gryffindor’s previous one, Owen Mackey, had graduated the year after. Minerva thought she beamed for a whole, enough that even Professor Slughorn noticed and commented on how her potions were looking better too.

“Great skill you have, Miss McGonagall. Wonderful to see that you’re a little happier too,” he said with his usual joviality and while Minerva was tempted to ask what on Earth he meant, Professor Slughorn had already moved onto the next student and helped him out with a Potion that was looking particularly nasty. 

This year’s team captain, Richard Keats, was a very tall, quite strong, and very determined seventh year seeker that wanted the Cup more than anything and drilled the team every morning he could, booking the pitch to the point where Madam Flaunt had to section off practices so the other Houses could get just a chance at practice. They were up before dawn and out after dark and if Minerva thought she was ever tired with studying and school and everything that came with Hogwarts before, it was nothing compared to Quidditch. She asked Amelia if it was like this last year while running laps at 6:30 in the morning, Amelia just panted a quick no and ran faster. Minerva wanted to drop to the ground and sink into it, but she picked up the pace, matching Amelia’s. 

They were always sweaty and burnt out in the changing rooms and the other two Chasers were Marjorie Robinson, a kind sixth year with a penchant for Charms—Minerva wished that she had Marjorie’s flair with her wand—and Bart Checkley, a strong fifth year that didn’t talk much but was brilliant with a Quaffle. Minerva quickly caught up with their habits and their usual moves and soon, the Chasers were seamless across the pitch and Minerva found herself laughing at Marjorie’s jokes and helping Bart out with some of his Transfiguration homework. The beaters were two fourth year boys who were almost smaller than Minerva but faster than lightning and could dodge a ball better than Minerva could fly. 

Their first game came against Slytherin on a warm, fall day and Minerva was so nervous she almost didn’t eat breakfast until Amelia forced her and she had a piece of toast and Augusta wished them both the best of luck decked out in her Gryffindor apparel and told them that she’d be watching carefully from the stands and when Minerva stepped out onto the pitch, with Marjorie to her left and Bart to the very, very left, the cheers of the crowd lifted something out of her and she beamed, narrowed her eyes, and flew up into positions and scored five Quaffles in a row, each one faster than the other and kept an eye on the scoreboard and begged Richard to grab the snitch. 

Amelia guarded the goals with a fierceness that Minerva’d never seen before, not even when she played Chaser last year. Minerva dodged another Bludger, ducking her head and spinning on her broom, just like how she’d practiced on Amelia’s pitch and then on the Hogwarts pitch and then finally in a game. 

When Richard caught the snitch with a bright gleam in his eyes, Minerva whooped so hard she nearly fell off her broom and everyone on the team ran together for a group hug and Minerva was smiling so much her cheeks hurt and her entire body was aching from the game but they won and it felt even better than she’d expected and she rode the high the entire week, all the way through classes and through boring Divination—of which she was dropping soon enough—and wrote to Mother and Papa about her first game, about how they’d won, and about how Richard was pushing them even harder now because they were playing Ravenclaw next and even if they bested Slytherin, that didn’t mean anything against the house of intellectuals. 

She was so distracted by Quidditch that when Professor Dumbledore dropped another book onto her desk in Transfiguration when she had finished all of her work, she barely noticed. He looked at her with a queer smile. 

“Miss McGonagall?” 

Minerva blinked quickly. “Sorry, sir. I was just a little out of it.”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Quidditch?” 

Minerva blushed. Was she that readable? “Yes, sir.” 

“You played quite admirably,” he said. “I do hope to see that Cup on my desk by the end of the year.” 

Minerva grinned. “I think Richard might just die if he doesn’t get it there,” she replied. 

Professor Dumbledore laughed. “Quidditch aside, I think you would enjoy this one,” he said, tapping the cover. It read _Animagus: Complete Transfiguration and Its Near Impossibilities_. Minerva gasped a little. 

“But sir—this is from the Restricted Section!” 

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I shan’t ask how you know that, but let’s keep this between us.” He winked and then left to fix a student’s mangled up transfiguration of a mouse. 

Quidditch completely forgotten, Minerva leafed through the textbook with glee for the rest of the period and fell asleep with it on her stomach that night. She made copious notes on it throughout Christmas, even when she got home and Robert wouldn’t shut up about his first year and she wondered if she was like that too. She talked about her trips to Hogsmeade just to beat him a little, about all its little shops and the butterbeer and how much fun she had and Malcolm just sat there, nearing tears and shouting about how much he wanted to go Hogwarts and Mummy, when can I go, when can I go? 

Minerva just laughed and chased him around the room, saying she was a big bad monster that would steal his Hogwarts letter if he didn’t eat his vegetables. Mother just looked up from her needlework and Papa laughed hard and proper and the night was cold and dark and long when they rang in 1950 with bright smiles and Minerva hugged her entire family tight and with all the love she could possibly muster. 

She came back to Hogwarts with fifteen more Quidditch moves memorized along with the entire Animagus textbook and doubled down on her studying because Quidditch was getting busier as they’d lose the match to Ravenclaw and if Minerva thought Richard was pushing them hard before, it was nothing like now. 

She studied with Augusta, flew with Amelia, and by the time the next match came by, Minerva’d nearly gone through all of next year’s Transfiguration material and she gave Professor Dumbledore a wink in the air, right before the Quaffle was thrown and she was off, like light and her first goal was three minutes into the game. They won that one. 

Minerva scored goal after goal after goal and started studying each House’s Keeper. They won the match against Hufflepuff. They were up against Slytherin again and Minerva ran three goals within two minutes. Amelia gave her a grin and Minerva wondered if she could convince Mother to buy her a broom because sometimes, these school brooms just weren’t doing it. 

Soon, it was down to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for the Cup and Minerva had flown laps around the school beforehand, running out her nerves and thinking about how their Keeper wasn’t the most careful and left one goal unattended that Minerva gunned for every time and she scored five within the first four minutes until something hard and strong knocked her in the ribs and she slipped, falling until she caught her hand onto her broom handle and was hanging in the air, the broom shaking slightly. She heard gasps from the audience but the only thing she was thinking about was how glad she was that Richard made them do all those torturous workouts because she clambered back up with ease and threw her hair back. 

“You okay?” Amelia shouted. 

“Never better!” she yelled back and zoomed off after Marjorie who passed her the Quaffle with ease, the heavy ball slamming into her but Minerva used the momentum and made another score. The crowd cheered and Minerva begged Richard, once again, like always, to find the damn Snitch! 

He caught it in the next ten minutes and Minerva thought she would go deaf with how loud the crowd was cheering. The day was clear and the air had a slight chill but they’d won the cup—they’d won the cup!—and Minerva hugged Amelia and Marjorie and Bart and Richard and Charles and Jamie and cheered so loud she thought her voice would give out and gave Professor Dumbledore the biggest smile when Richard handed him the Cup and barrelled into Augusta so hard that she almost toppled over. They looped their arms together and the three of them made their way back to the common room, cheering with the rest of the team and house. 

Richard popped a Firewhiskey and a whole ton of Butterbeer that Minerva had no idea where it came from but she had one shot because it was a tradition of the team and it burned and she didn’t quite care for it and she almost choked to be completely honest but it was warm and she was warm and the common room was warm and Amelia was warm and everything was so bright and so loud and there was a joy in her chest that never left, not even when she wrote her exams, not even when the year ended, not even on the train ride home, not even when she saw Mother and Papa and was away from Hogwarts, away from magic for another two months. 

She spent that whole summer in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slowly getting there! hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought <3


	5. Chapter 5

Her fourth year went similarly to her third, except for the fact that they lost the House Cup and Minerva was more focused on Transfiguration than anything else and she researched about Professor Dumbledore’s defeat of Grindelwald because she was too afraid to ask him about it and found that the duel was something legendary—spells that people hadn’t even _heard_ of, according to witnesses. Professor Dumbledore had declined to comment on anything. 

Minerva wondered if he was an Animagus. She checked the registry lists for an Albus Dumbledore but he was nowhere to be found. Not even in a footnote or anything—though Dumbledore could be anything but a footnote—and after class, when she was asking about clarification on the properties of food when Transfigured, she mustered up her courage and took a deep breath. 

“Professor, can I ask you a question?” 

“Well, you already have, but yes, you may.” 

Minerva wanted to roll her eyes, just a little. “Are you an Animagus? I checked the registry but you weren’t listed.” 

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “No, Miss McGonagall, I am not.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. I just thought with—”

“With everything else, I’d be just as accomplished?” he finished for her. Minerva glanced down and nodded. Professor Dumbledore chuckled. “A common mistake. It’s much easier to just assume greatness than actually earning it.”

Minerva’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that, sir, I—”

“I’m just teasing you, dear. A completely valid question, as I _am_ your Transfiguration teacher,” he said, holding his hands underneath his chin. 

“Do you think that’s something you could teach, though?” Minerva asked, hopeful. Professor Dumbledore looked at her carefully. 

“We do not provide Animagus training here at Hogwarts,” he said. Minerva’s shoulders slumped. 

“Oh. But—”

Professor Dumbledore firmly shook his head. “It is a very dangerous form of study, as I’m sure you’ve read. Also, Miss McGonagall, I do not want you to do any sort of attempt or education of this study unsupervised. It could lead to disastrous results, and I, for one, would not like to see one of my students permanently as a frog, though I’m sure Professor Slughorn would disagree.” 

Minerva laughed a little and nodded. “Yes sir.” 

Another thing about fourth year was that it was the first time that Minerva was called a mudblood and she knew exactly what the word meant even if she wasn’t muggleborn—clearly, bigots didn’t care about accuracy with their slurs—but she ignored the spat from Trinity Mulciber and just sent him a hex as she walked by. She told Amelia and Augusta, the former who snarled and threatened to send him flying at the next Quidditch game and the latter who just sniffed and told her that the Slytherins weren’t worth anything. Minerva grinned and told both of them that she took care of it and while it may have been her first time with the word, it was not her last. She could only hope that Robert didn’t hear it anytime soon. 

One more new thing about fourth year was that other students—especially those in her year and younger—started to notice that Minerva was _always_ the top of their class and how she always sat in the same spot in the library (it was tucked in the corner with the Transfiguration textbooks right by the second largest window because Minerva preferred natural light, though that didn’t really matter when it was three in the morning) and they started to come by, asking her for help in everything from Transfiguration to Defense Against the Dark Arts to Herbology to Potions (okay, maybe not Potions because she definitely wasn’t the strongest in that). Eventually, as fall fell to winter and then melted into spring and then warmed into summer, Minerva had a schedule laid out for when she could help with studying and in her next year, she was going to ask Professor Dumbledore if there was an empty classroom they could use because Madam Tellman was starting to give her dirty looks whenever the group became too loud and Minerva was running out of desk space. 

They lost the Quidditch Cup but won the House one and Minerva supposed that was enough and passed her exams with flying colours and started worrying about her OWL’s because this was Minerva, as Amelia would say and Augusta would laugh. 

Richard had graduated and Marjorie was their new captain and she was much, much easier and Minerva and Amelia had taken to sleeping in on weekends instead of flying out and if Minerva was just a little disappointed by this, she didn’t say. Robert enjoyed his second year and as they came home for summer break, he complained incessentantly about how all his professors were “Minerva this and Minerva that and oh your sister, Minerva!” and Minerva just snipped about how if he had higher grades, maybe they wouldn’t be talking about her so much and he just stuck out his tongue and ignored his homework while Malcom ran in the background, still begging Mother to let him go to Hogwarts and Minerva just laughed and wished that she could show them all the magic she learned. 

When her Hogwarts letter came that year, a Prefect badge fell out of the envelope along with it and Mother gasped and Robert groaned and Minerva stared at it in shock and on August 31st, Papa woke her up at dawn and told her to put on her farm clothes and Minerva complained a little but followed. 

He snuck her out, climbing up to the end of the street that had the last oil lamp left after the rest of the ones in the market were replaced by electric ones. 

“Lass, I’m so proud of you,” he said, pulling Minerva close. She blushed and beamed and burrowed into his embrace, like she was small again. 

“I know,” he began slowly, sitting down on the bench, “that I may not have always shown it, because this magic thing is still quite new to me”—Minerva chuckled a little—“but you’ll always be my little girl and nothing makes me prouder.” 

Minerva nodded and felt her eyes burn up, just a little. She pulled a match out of her pocket and held it out for him. 

“Can you light it?” 

Papa just smiled. “Of course, lass.” 

“I love you,” he said, after the flame caught on and the sun started to rise with it. “Don’t you ever forget.”

“I love you too,” she replied. “And I won’t.” 

Minerva left for Hogwarts like she did every other year but hugged Papa even tighter before she did and on the whole train ride there, she told stories of Papa to Amelia and Augusta, about how he was when she was young, before Malcolm was born, when she barely knew what magic was but did know how to light a match. 

Augusta proudly showed her Prefect badge as well and Amelia may have slumped a little but Minerva gave her a grin and told her that she was staring at their future Quidditch Captain and they spent the rest of the train ride sharing snacks and jokes and all Minerva could think about was how lovely Amelia looked in the dim light. 

As instructed in the letter that came with her Prefect badge, Minerva and Augusta, along with two other sixth year Prefects, led the first years up to the common room, greeted the Fat Lady, and told them the password and Minerva bounded up into their dormitory right afterward, hand in hand with Augusta to tell Amelia just how small the first years were until she found Amelia’s bed empty. She came in a couple hours later, out of breath and hair tousled and Minerva didn’t ask why. Just said “good night” and tried not to think about how Amelia had a dark bruise on her neck. 

Later, Minerva was too swamped with classes, Quidditch, the study group, and prefect duties to really notice anything more about Amelia, but when she showed up in the common room hand in hand with Andrew Bowler—who couldn’t even pass Charms without her help—Minerva felt something boil up in her and she didn’t talk to Amelia for a week. Chalked it up to prefect duties, of which she spent most of the time with Augusta and Jamie, a sixth year prefect that was also Beater _and_ on the Quidditch team and Minerva found him funny, most of the time, and thought that the way he smiled was kind of sweet and she resolutely ignored Amelia making out with Andrew by the fireplace. 

Jamie asked her out to Hogsmeade in the middle of November and Minerva said yes because why not and he had stopped a Bludger from railing into her head and he was sweet and Amelia was with Andrew again and Minerva enjoyed a nice Butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks and he was into Quidditch and she was into Quidditch and to her surprise, he enjoyed Transfiguration quite a bit to boot as well. Tack on the fact that he was also stopping by the empty classroom that Professor Dumbledore let her use for her study group—now filled with students from first to fifth year, from Gryffindors to Hufflepuffs to Ravenclaws and the occasional Slytherin—and Minerva was sold. It had nothing to do with Amelia and her new boyfriend, she told herself. 

When she got back, she gushed about it to Augusta because that was just something girls were supposed to do and ignored the fact that Amelia’s bed curtains were drawn and they hadn’t really talked since they were on the Hogwarts Express. 

It wasn’t until one cold—really goddamn cold—December morning when it’d just started to snow that Amelia wrenched Minerva out of bed at Merlin-knew-when and shoved a broom in her face and told her that they were going flying and that she’d meet her at the Astronomy Tower. 

Minerva flung her hand somewhere and hit something and burrowed her head underneath the pillow. It wasn’t until she heard Amelia’s footsteps down the Tower that she slumped her way out of bed with the smallest glimmer of excitement in her chest because she hadn’t gone flying with Amelia since third year. Raced her way to the Tower and found Amelia, perched on the balcony edge, broom in hand. Minerva hovered by her. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey.” 

“So, how’s it been?” Amelia asked, looking at Minerva right in the eye. Minerva looked around. 

“Pretty good. Jamie’s asked me out on another date,” she said. “Quidditch is going well, but you know that.” 

“Do I?” 

Minerva frowned. 

“You haven’t spoken to me all year, Min,” Amelia said, reaching out but dropped her hand. Minerva looked at her broom. 

“Well, you were the one that ran off with your boyfriend,” she said quietly. Amelia looked at her carefully. 

“I didn’t realise that would cost me a friend,” Amelia replied stiffly. 

“Well, it wasn’t as if I wasn’t making the effort!” Minerva snapped, hotly. 

“You _weren’t!”_

Minerva opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut again. Amelia was right. She looked down at her broom and caught just how high up she was and for the first time, she was scared of it. She hopped off her broom and perched herself onto the rail, like Amelia had. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing her friend’s hand. “I wasn’t.” 

Amelia looked Minerva, her brown eyes bright. 

“Friends again?” Minerva asked, nervous. Amelia just punched her in the shoulder. 

“Of course, you goddamn idiot. I don’t even know what you were thinking!” 

Minerva let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t either,” she replied, because that was the truth. 

They sat there, watching the sunrise, talking about what they missed, about boys, about school, about Quidditch, until Amelia hopped back onto her broom and told her that she’d raced her to the mountain and Minerva laughed, bright and loud and filled with hope. 

Minerva’s first kiss was on a Saturday afternoon, after a date in Hogsmeade, after she and Amelia had made up and it was just a couple of days until Christmas break and Jamie was with her at the staircase of the girls’ dormitory and he was hanging around a little awkwardly until he pulled Minerva in by the shoulders and kissed her, right on the mouth. 

It was a bit sloppy and wetter than Minerva’d expected, but he was warm and it was almost Christmas and he was sweet and cute and Minerva’d had nothing to lose and this was her first kiss so she kissed him back, gently like he had with her and when she pulled back, his face was flushed and he gave her a little wave and headed back to his dormitory and Minerva should’ve felt like screaming—because this was her _first kiss!_ —but she just headed back to pack and to study and didn’t even tell Augusta. 

They were going steady within a couple of days and Minerva thought this was the best Christmas ever. She’d threatened Robert if he snitched and nothing got home and the McGonagall Christmas was a warm and bright one that was filled with studying because it was OWL year and to say that Minerva was stressed was an understatement. Robert was loud and Malcolm was excited because he just turned ten and Minerva, it’s just one more year before I go to Hogwarts with you and Robert and he jumped around the living room when he opened his gift but the real kicker’s was Minerva’s, a long, thin box that unravelled to a Cleansweep Six and she nearly flipped out, nearly screamed that Christmas morning because she’d wanted a broom for so long and Mother smiled brightly and Papa looked on and Minerva thought her heart was going to burst. 

She Floo-ed to Amelia’s the next day and they spent Boxing Day soaring into the winter skies, cold and freezing but Minerva had her own broom and Amelia was right by her side and they called up Augusta later on and they all sipped on Butterbeer by the fire and something in Minerva glowed, warm, bright, like the flame that Papa lit in the oil-lamp. 

She went back to Hogwarts with a new broom in tow, a boyfriend, and two of her best friends by her side and what she wanted for a career after Hogwarts, even if she really didn’t want to think about it. She kissed Jamie right in front of her friends in their cabin on the Express and pushed him towards the rest of his Quidditch friends who hollered and whistled and Minerva blushed then glared and spent the train ride there talking about her new broom and how they were going to win the Cup this year even if they’d already lost two games because since Richard had graduated, their Seeker position was lacking. 

Their next game was played in fleet and snow, where their glasses were always fogging up and Minerva had to put on three separate spells to protect them and still allow her to see but she scored five goals in succession and then another two with only six minutes in between and Amelia was keeping goals left and right and twenty minutes in, Slytherin caught the Snitch but Gryffindor won the game and Minerva nearly fell off her broom in relief and collapsed into Amelia’s arms and smiled all the way back to the common room, where they caught Augusta locked lips with a very tall, very kind Frank Longbottom, a Ravenclaw, and Amelia and Minerva laughed as they jumped apart and teased Augusta about it all the way up to their dormitory. 

“When were you going to tell us, _Gussie_ _?”_ Amelia teased, laughing. Minerva grinned and waved her wand, cleaning up her Quidditch robes. 

“When were you going to tell us about Andrew, huh?” Augusta shot back, glaring at them. Minerva stifled a giggle. 

“Look at all of us, with our boyfriends,” Amelia commented. “Maybe we’ll all get married at the same time.” 

Minerva laughed, but she couldn’t pinpoint why there was a sinking in her stomach. She ignored it and focused on what she was going to talk to Professor Dumbledore about at Careers’ Advice because she sort of knew what but she knew she wanted something and Minerva always worked towards what she wanted. As she rushed to Professor Dumbledore’s office, she was hit with a _thud_ and stumbled back a little until she saw a bunch of textbooks strewn across the floor and she knelt down to pick them up. 

“So sorry about that,” a quite voice said. Minerva just smiled at the young girl who looked like a first year. She had that look. 

“It’s alright,” Minerva replied. “Looking for a class?” She offered a hand and pulled her to her feet. The girl nodded. “My name’s Minerva,” she continued, introducing herself. 

“I’m Pomona,” she replied, smiling. “Hey! You’re on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team!” 

“I am,” Minerva said patiently. Pomona was decked out with a Hufflepuff scarf and robes. “I see that we beat you pretty badly last game,” she teased. Pomona giggled. 

“We’ll get you next time,” she shot back, shoving her books back into her bag. “Thanks,” she replied and skipped off, giving Minerva a wave over her shoulder. Minerva smiled and hurried her way to Careers Advice, of which she was going to be late because her watch was just a little off. 

“So, Miss McGonagall,” Professor Dumbledore began, sitting back at his desk covered in pamphlets and papers and books. “You will have an array of options to choose from, I’m sure, as you’ve been top of your class for the past four years. I’m sure it will be no different with your OWLs.” 

Professor Dumbledore looked at her over his glasses and gave her a small smile when she felt her cheeks burn up. Minerva cleared her throat.

“There was a program that I was looking at,” she started, clasping her hands together and forcing herself to meet Professor Dumbledore’s gaze. He raised an eyebrow. 

“And what may that be?” 

“I want to join the Aurors.” 

Professor Dumbledore’s smile disappeared. Minerva frowned. 

“I’m afraid that our Ministry’s Auror training is only available for men,” he said finally, sighing. “Quite an archaic rule, might I add.” 

Minerva’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.” 

She didn’t ask why because she knew why. 

“Are there other options?” 

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “There are many positions within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, of which the Auror Department is also part of. There are also… other options than the Ministry,” he said, adding the last bit quietly. “I’m afraid I may be biased in that sense as well,” he continued, chuckling a little. 

“What about further study?” Minerva asked. 

“There are university options available to Hogwarts students as well, but very few of our graduates continue with that path,” answered Professor Dumbledore. “However, with your aptitude and talent in Transfiguration, I would hate to see that go to waste.” 

“I have thought about further research, sir,” Minerva said. “I suppose, now, I’m not really sure, with the Auror option out.”

Professor Dumbledore nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. 

“What about Quidditch? You’re one of the more skiller players Gryffindor house has seen in some time and recruiters always stop by every once in a while,” Professor Dumbledore suggested. Minerva tapped her fingers on her chair. Quidditch _was_ something she had considered, she supposed. 

“I guess I’m less sure about my talents in Quidditch as compared to other things,” Minerva said slowly. “Though it would be a dream to play for the Magpies.” 

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. “There is still time, of course, but if you would like me to direct you to some leaflets, here you are,” he indicated, placing together a nice pile for her. 

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, turning to leave when Professor Dumbledore gave her a very specific look that she couldn’t quite describe. 

“I will say, Miss McGonagall, that you will not have to worry about the pathways you may take,” he said kindly. “You have a very bright future.” 

Minerva just gave him a tight nod and smile and tried not to think anything about Careers after or what she was going to do when she finished at Hogwarts and agreed to a double date with Augusta and Frank (because Amelia and Andrew didn’t do that kind of thing) and it was filled with laughs and Butterbeer and Jamie really was cute and kind and he was great on the Pitch and he always kissed her after their dates and sometimes, he even joined her studying and Minerva found it all very _nice,_ indeed. 

Before she knew it, the OWLs were upon them and Minerva barely slept the week before and Augusta and Amelia had to drag her into bed and more often than not, she fell asleep with a textbook on her face and since Quidditch had finished then—Gryffindor, unfortunately, lost the Cup to Hufflepuff—she was razor-focused and even Jamie couldn’t distract her (and he had his NEWTs to worry about) and if you asked her anything about OWL week, she really couldn’t tell you as it was a stress-filled, haze of coffee and Wake-Me charms. She even brewed a Stay-Awake potion that lasted her seventy-two hours and she passed out for the twenty-four thereafter and swore to herself never again. 

She kissed Jamie on the train ride back and told him that she’d write over the summer and tried not to think of her OWL results and laughed her whole way home with Augusta and Amelia, warm in their little cabin on the Express as they rushed through the Highlands, all the way to London, all the way home and Minerva hugged her parents hard when she got back. 

When her OWL results arrived, they were in a parcel and Minerva didn’t think she was ever that nervous before and her hands were shaking and the paper was thick and fancy and the owl that delivered them chirped while it was perched on their sink faucet and Minerva couldn’t breathe—

Ten Outstandings. 

A _perfect_ score. 

She screamed and Mother rushed down the stairs and Papa jumped in his armchair and Robert complained and Malcolm yelled and Minerva nearly cried when she passed the letter to Mother, whose jaw dropped and hugged Minerva tight and told her that she was proud of her and Papa looked a little confused but once Mother explained what it was, he swept her into his arms like she was a little girl again and spun her around the living room, all laughs and smiles and Mother decked out the dinner table like it was Christmas all over again. 

She couldn’t help but think that Professor Dumbledore was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slowly moving it along! we're getting to her final years at hogwarts and that's where some of the drama really begins. let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for a homophobic slur and some internalized homophobia.

Minerva headed into her sixth year with a set of perfect OWLs, the choice of whatever classes she wanted, a semi-new broom, a boyfriend, and two of the people she knew best in her life. The day after Minerva received her OWL results, Amelia barrelled through her Floo, Quidditch Captain’s badge in hand and nearly knocked Minerva over with her hug. She waved it in Minerva’s face, bright, red, and gold and Minerva hugged her back and told her that she was so glad because it was true and if there was anyone who deserved it, it was Amelia. 

They talked strategy on the Express until Augusta told them both enough, that she’d heard enough Quidditch to last her a lifetime and the three of them burst into laughter, sharing treats all the way there. 

This year as well, another McGonagall graced the halls of Hogwarts, all bouncing and jumping and more excited than Minerva’d ever seen him—Malcolm could’ve slingshot them to London with the sheer energy he was running on. Minerva was tempted to freeze him with a spell, but Mother just glared at her suggestion and Portkey-ed them all the way to King’s Cross. 

She watched nervously as Malcolm waited in line for his Sorting, looking so small squashed amongst the rest of the first years. Robert was down on the other side of the Gryffindor table, but when Minerva caught his gaze, he just grinned and gave her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes. Clearly, her older sister worry was peaking through. 

Professor Dumbledore finally called “McGonagall!”; he too, caught Minerva’s eye and gave her a reassuring smile. Minerva sat silent, watching as The Hat seemed to engulf Malcolm, and then three minutes and forty-six seconds later, it cried “GRYFFINDOR” and Malcolm ripped The Hat off his head—Minerva was sure The Hat made some snarky comment about that—and raced over into Minerva’s arms. She hugged him back, brushing his hair and laughing a little. 

“Good job, Malcolm,” she said proudly. “Now, head along,” she continued, giving him a small nudge towards the other first years. He smiled, just as brightly as he had on the trip to Hogwarts, and bounced towards the front of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amelia hand Augusta a couple of coins. 

“I was so sure he would be in Hufflepuff!” Amelia said, crossing her arms with a huff. 

“Well, you were wrong,” Augusta replied. “He’s a _McGonagall.”_

Minerva rolled her eyes and slapped them both on the arms. “Don’t you bet on my brothers again,” she chastised. 

“Yes Mum,” they both chorused and Minerva laughed, all the way through dinner, even on the way up to the common room, even when they were leading the first years and she needed to keep a stern face with Malcolm, and especially when they finally reached their dormitory on the sixth floor of the tower and Amelia flung a pillow into Minerva’s face and she glared and flung it right back. 

She fell asleep sandwiched between Amelia and Augusta, pillows everywhere and the room astray, and woke up to Amelia’s arm on her stomach and Augusta’s leg over hers and the morning was bright and the day was warm and Minerva walked down to class with a spring in her step and spent her Transfiguration class studying Animagus theory because she was turning seventeen this October and she had a very, very, special request to ask of Professor Dumbledore. 

Minerva woke up on October 4th with a yawn and to Amelia’s very, very loud “wake up!” and nearly hit her because she had stayed up until three in the morning the night before running through her Animagus texts and Amelia, it’s too early! 

“Min, did you remember that you can now buy alcohol?” 

“I am _not_ getting sloshed at 8 AM, Amelia,” Minerva mumbled back, burrowing her face into her pillow. 

“Wake up, idiot, because we’re going flying,” she said instead, yanking the sheets off and setting Minerva’s broom at the end of her bed. “We’ve missed the sunrise, but no one else will be out on a Saturday morning.” 

Minerva just groaned.

“Come on!” Amelia said sharply, dumping a cup of water on her face. Minerva recoiled. 

“Hey! It’s my birthday!” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

“Fine! Fine, I’m up,” she said, grabbing her wand and spelling her clothes dry. “Bring that cup any closer to me and I’ll hex your hair off.” 

Amelia just laughed and told her that she’d meet her in the common room and Minerva flipped her off on the way to the bathroom. Somewhat awake, completely dry, and not-at-all annoyed at Amelia anymore, they snuck through a tunnel that they found at the end of the hall near Gryffindor Tower when they’d both gotten brooms and no longer needed to break into the broom closet near the Quidditch Pitch. 

The sky was clear—a rarity for northern Scotland—and the wind was just a little chilly, but Minerva was warm with Amelia by her side and the day was bright and they soared through the skies, racing each other, looping around the mountains, skimming the Black Lake, and then finally landing at the Astronomy Tower like they always did, sitting on the ledge. Minerva leaned her head against Amelia’s shoulder as they watched the sky. 

“Happy Birthday, Min,” Amelia said, as some birds flew back and forth. 

“Thanks,” she said back. “I’ll buy you a Firewhiskey,” she added with a laugh. 

“Bet your ass you will!” 

And they just sat there, as Amelia watched the sky and Minerva watched Amelia and thought about how lucky she was, to be here with her best friend, watching the world. 

Later, for their Hogsmeade trip, Minerva told Jamie that she was meeting up with her parents and gave him a quick peck on the lips before she left and raced to The Three Broomsticks and searched through the tavern and saw Mother wave an elegant hand with Papa sitting beside her, looking a little confused and quite queer indeed, standing out in his muggle clothes. 

“Happy Birthday, Minerva!” Mother greeted, standing up and giving her a hug. Papa smiled, did the same, and lifted her in the air, spinning her around like she was six years old again. Minerva laughed. 

“Papa!” 

“Look at you,” he exclaimed. “My little girl, all grown up.” 

Minerva blushed and Papa just ushered her into her seat and Mother ordered three drinks—three Butterbeers. 

Minerva gave her a look and she just said, “We follow muggle laws for drinking age when I’m here,” giving Minerva a stern look and Papa laughed. 

“She’s a Scot, Isobel. I’m sure a little nip now won’t hurt,” he said, giving Minerva a wink. Mother stiffly shook her head and Minerva just took a sip of her Butterbeer. Papa did too, looking surprised. 

“Why don’t you make this more?” 

Mother and Minerva just shared a glance and laughed. Mother then smiled and pulled out two boxes, one large, another small. She grabbed the smaller one on top. 

“It’s tradition, in wizarding families to give a watch when you come of age,” Mother explained, grabbing Minerva’s hand. She opened the box carefully. “This was the one that was given to me, by my grandmother, whom you are also named after.” 

A beautiful, somewhat beaten up watch was nestled in the box, with a midnight navy face and gold detailing. 

“Oh Mother,” Minerva said, looking up at her. “It’s beautiful.” She gently lifted it out of the fabric it was almost blanketed in and put it on. “I was almost sorted into Ravenclaw, you know,” Minerva commented, looking at it. 

“Oh? You didn’t mention this,” Mother said. Papa looked at her curiously. 

“The Hat remembered you,” Minerva continued. “Spent over five minutes debating whether or not to put me into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.” She laughed a little, still admiring the watch. Papa reached over and ruffled her hair. 

“Just like her mother,” he said, smiling with pride. Minerva grinned. “And this,” he added, pushing the larger present forward, “is something more mundane,” he said with bright eyes, “but I hope you’ll like it just as much as your mother’s fancy watch there.” 

Minerva grabbed his hand. 

“Papa, I’m sure I will.” 

He just nodded and looked at Mother. Minerva carefully unwrapped the gift and opened the lid, revealing a set of notebooks, quills, a textbook—most likely Transfiguration, she assumed—but right in the middle of it all, was another box, this time a velvet, jewelry one. She gasped a bit and looked up at her parents, who both nodded and smiled at her excitement. The box opened with a small snap and inside was a beautiful, delicate golden necklace with a small star attached. Minerva carefully lifted it out.

“Your mother gave you something from her side so I thought it would be fitting to give you something from my grandmother, a necklace that your grandfather gave to her when they married,” Papa explained. “She passed it onto your mother here and there is nothing more we want than your happiness, Minerva.” 

Minerva sniffed a little and bounded out of her seat, leaping into her parents’ arms. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled, muffled into their shoulders. Papa just laughed and Mother patted her back. “Thank you,” she repeated. 

Then, Mother demanded a detailed report of how Malcolm was doing and what Robert was up to as well, along with Minerva’s plans for the rest of the day—she left out getting wasted with Amelia and Augusta—and afterward, she proudly took Papa on a tour around Hogsmeade, showing him the little town and Mother happily followed along, grabbing a few treats from Honeydukes, amused at Papa’s reactions to the magical town. 

“We would walk you up to Hogwarts,” Mother began, but then she looked at Papa. 

“We’re so proud of you, lass,” Papa just said. Minerva nodded and hugged them both. She was tempted to grab her father’s hand and run him up to Hogwarts, run fast enough that he would be able to bypass the wards but they both knew that wasn’t possible so she just hugged him tight and kissed Mother on the cheek and told them both to have a good day and Papa told her again how proud he was and Minerva went back to Jamie and Augusta and Frank and Amelia and they walked arm in arm back to The Three Broomsticks and Minerva ordered Firewhiskey for them all. 

They stumbled back to Hogwarts quite a bit drunk, very warm, and Minerva smiled stupidly at the sky, Amelia on her right and Augusta on her left, the two of them singing “Happy Birthday” louder than they should’ve and almost fell on their faces heading back into their dormitory. 

“Happy Birthday,” Amelia mumbled into her pillow.

“Thanks,” Minerva muttered back, right beside her. “Night.”

“Night.” 

Minerva woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and Amelia snuggled up beside her and Augusta snoring in the next bed and she promptly threw up on the floor. 

After they cleaned up their messes—Minerva’s vomit included—they went down to the Great Hall for a very, very late breakfast and then Minerva gathered up her Animagus textbooks, told Amelia and Augusta that she was heading out for a studying session with her group—of which Amelia rolled her eyes and Augusta just said of course—and knocked firmly on Professor Dumbledore’s office. 

“Come in,” he said. Minerva walked in confidently. 

“I want you to teach me how to become an Animagus,” she said before he could even look up. Professor Dumbledore paused. 

“No,” he said after a while. Minerva frowned. 

“Why not? I’m of age,” she said. 

“Miss McGonagall, as I’ve already told you, Hogwarts does not provide Animagus training,” he replied, looking calmly at her. 

“But you were the one that gave me the textbook in the first place! I’ve been studying it for the past three years,” she exclaimed. “Sir.” 

Professor Dumbledore just looked at her over his glasses. “While you may be of age, it does not mean that you are suddenly ready for such a dangerous study.” 

“Which is why you would supervise, sir.” 

Professor Dumbledore sat back in his chair and held out hand, gesturing for Minerva to take a seat. 

“Miss McGonagall—Minerva—you have to understand that I have never done this before,” he said seriously. “I know that you have studied and read the theory, but Animagus transformation especially, the application is very risky.” 

“I know, sir.” 

“Do you?” 

Minerva nodded firmly. 

“I want to do this, Professor. With all its risks attached,” she said strongly. “This is a school of learning, is it not?” 

Professor Dumbledore sat back and watched her carefully. 

Minerva pushed on. “However, if you are not willing, I am of age and will seek out other methods,” she said stubbornly. 

Professor Dumbledore’s expression immediately darkened. 

“It is against the law to practice this study unsupervised.” 

Minerva nodded. “I know, sir.” 

“And I will not overlook any rule-breaking with this, Miss McGonagall,” he said sternly. “Now, shoo, while I think about it.” 

Minerva grinned and leapt out of her chair. 

“Thank you, Professor!” she shouted as she closed the door and leaned against it, hugging her books to her chest and was tempted to pump her fist into the air but she just smiled hard enough that her cheeks hurt and bugged Amelia for another flying session. 

Professor Dumbledore had his answer for her after Potions class when her, Amelia, and Augusta were all invited to Professor Slughorn’s Slug Club—of which Minerva was reluctant to attend and didn’t really want to drag Jamie along—when he told her to stay behind when Transfiguration was finished and she told Amelia and Augusta to head to lunch without her. 

“I will agree to teach you,” he began and Minerva gasped. “On the condition your parents agree. Even though you are of age, you are still very young.” 

Minerva just barrelled into him and hugged him hard. 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Professor!” 

Professor Dumbledore slowly hugged her back and smiled. “I will come by to speak with your parents at the end of Christmas break; does that work with you?” 

Minerva nodded. Just as she turned to leave, Professor Dumbledore called after her. 

“I want you to remember, Miss McGonagall, that this is something not to be taken lightly,” he said seriously. Minerva looked him right in the eye, realising that she was almost his height now. 

“I know, sir.” 

“Good, now hurry along for lunch. I hear the House-Elves are serving cranberry jam today,” he said, following her to the Great Hall. 

“Thank you,” she said once more. Professor Dumbledore’s eyes just twinkled and he headed down the corridor in a swirl of bright purple robes. Minerva immediately wrote to her parents, penning a letter faster than she had in years. 

Minerva asked Jamie to be her date for the next Slug Club meeting where she was bored out of her mind and spent more time with Amelia joking around than she did with Jamie because he was too busy sucking up to some Ministry official and then he broke up with her afterwards because he asked her if she wanted anything from him and because Minerva was honest, always truthful, she said no and tried not to feel bad when his face fell and told herself that she was upset when in reality she really wasn’t. 

There really wasn’t much of a difference between the Minerva that dated Jamie and the Minerva that didn’t, other than the fact that Quidditch practices were a little awkward but Amelia was training them so hard—even hard than Richard had when Minerva was first on the team—that there really wasn’t any room to be awkward and Jamie was still a good Beater and Minerva was still a good Chaser and they won the game against Ravenclaw so yeah, there really wasn’t much of a difference. 

Amelia and Andrew were this on-off thing that Minerva couldn’t keep up with and Augusta and Frank were still going steady and Minerva focused more on school like she always did, studied and studied and studied her Animagus work and wondered how she was going to explain it to her parents when she got home—how she was going to explain it to Papa, really—and on the day before winter break, about a week after Gryffindor beat Slytherin, Amelia dragged Minerva up for an early morning fly and they bundled up in their coats and their spells and soared and looped around the snowy white grounds of Hogwarts, braving the chill and the wind and the snow and they landed back at the Astronomy Tower like they always did and Minerva thought that Amelia looked lovely in the winter snow. 

“Happy early Christmas,” Minerva said, leaning into Amelia. 

“Early my ass, it’s in three days,” Amelia quipped, nudging her. 

“That’s still early,” Minerva defended, smiling. 

Amelia turned and faced her, tucking a leg underneath her. 

“Sure is,” she said and pulled Minerva close by the lapel of her jacket and then Amelia was kissing Minerva and she was so warm even though Minerva’s hands were freezing and her lips were so soft and this was so different from Jamie and then Minerva was kissing her back, kissing her best friend back and she was pulling her impossibly closer and Amelia’s hair was soft and _Amelia_ was soft and—

“Happy Christmas,” Amelia said, pulling back, a little breathless. Then, she gave Minerva a smile, a wave, hopped on her broom, and sailed into the morning light. Minerva just sat there, shocked, on the edge of the Astronomy Tower until the morning bells rang. She thought about how she’d slept beside Amelia, about how she’d held Amelia’s hand, about how it all _made sense_ but didn’t at the same time, about how Amelia was always there, that it was always Amelia, as solid and consistent and lovely as flying. 

She didn’t see Amelia until the New Year. 

Professor Dumbledore was coming within an hour, Minerva noticed as she glanced at the clock. She had rushed Robert and Malcolm upstairs and gave them strict instructions to not come down until she’d told them to—along with the threat of a hex because she was seventeen now and magic wasn’t off-limits outside of Hogwarts—and spent the entire winter break explaining to her father just what the hell an Animagus was and why she wanted to become one and eventually convinced him (not without a lot of begging, though). 

Mother had closed all the curtains and Papa was looking nervously at the fireplace as if Professor Dumbledore was going to come through there, though Minerva honestly wasn’t sure because he hadn’t specified in his letter. At nine in the evening promptly, there was a knock on the door and Minerva nearly jumped out of her seat. 

“Good evening,” he politely greeted when Minerva opened the door. 

“Hello, Professor! Please, come in,” she said brightly. Professor Dumbledore nodded and stepped in, wearing a perfectly normal suit. Minerva breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t even know that she was holding in. 

“Reverend McGonagall,” he said, shaking Papa’s hand who looked slightly impressed. “Mrs. McGonagall,” he added, shaking Mother’s hand as well. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Minerva frowned. “Again?” 

Mother just laughed. “Who do you think was my Transfiguration Professor?” 

Minerva’s jaw dropped. This time, it was Professor Dumbledore who laughed. “I’m flattered that you think I’m so young, Miss McGonagall.” 

Papa offered Professor Dumbledore a seat and they all gathered in the living room, around the fireplace. 

“I’m sure Minerva here has already filled you both in,” Professor Dumbledore began, getting right to business. Papa and Mother nodded. “So I’m sure you understand why I need your permission.” 

Papa nodded again. “So, you’ve—you’ve done this before?” he asked, apprehensive. 

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “I have not attempted the Animagus transformation myself, nor trained someone else through it.” 

Papa frowned. “Then why on Earth would you agree to something like this?” 

Minerva placed a hand on her father’s arm, slightly embarrassed. This was her professor, for Merlin’s sake! And Albus-bloody-Dumbledore to boot. 

Professor Dumbledore clasped his hands together and gave Papa a small smile, not seeming offended at all. 

“At first, I refused Minerva completely. However, as I thought about it, I understood where she was coming from. Your daughter is an incredibly smart and talented young woman, Reverend,” Professor Dumbledore said, twinkle in his eye bright. “She had exhausted, quite literally in some senses, everything there was to learn about Transfiguration by her fifth year. This was simply the most logical next step.” 

Papa sat back in contemplation. He looked at Minerva.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” 

Minerva nodded. “Yes.” 

Mother just looked at her proudly. 

“Sometimes, I wish you could just do something not overachieving, lass,” Papa said, jokingly. Professor Dumbledore laughed. 

“I can’t help but agree, Reverend,” he said and everyone laughed. Minerva’s heart was beating so fast she thought it would just jump out of her chest. 

When Professor Dumbledore left, she hugged Papa so tight he had to tell her to calm down a little and kissed her on the forehead. She was almost his height now, she realised. 

“I just hope you don’t permanently turn into a rat,” he joked, but there was a tinge of worry from his tone. Minerva just smiled. 

“Don’t you worry,” she replied. 

Papa just held her close. 

Minerva came back from winter break with four new textbooks, lessons with Professor Dumbledore every week on Thursdays, and a _something_ with Amelia that she could barely put a name to—well she knew many names but she didn’t think about it—so she ignored it and focused on her studies and nothing with Amelia _really_ changed, except for the fact that Amelia looked at her strangely some days at Quidditch practice and they didn’t go flying that much in the mornings but Minerva chalked that up to exams right around the corner and the fact that she was juggling Quidditch, eight NEWT classes, and this whole Animagus thing. 

The first couple of months with Professor Dumbledore consisted of drilling the theory into her head so strong that she was sure by the end of it all, she would have all eleven textbooks that he had given her memorized in her sleep. 

“You know,” Professor Dumbledore said, in the middle of a diagram explaining just how exactly you were to transfigure your clothes into your animal along with your body, “just because the Auror program doesn’t allow women now does not mean that it never will.” 

Minerva looked up from her notes and tilted her head. “I understand, sir.” 

Professor Dumbledore set down his wand. “If that is still something that you are interested in, Miss McGonagall, then I would be more than happy to help you out.” 

Minerva gave him a smile and lowered her head, giving a dry chuckle. “As influential as you may be, Professor, as you _are_ Chief Warlock, but I’m afraid that even you may not be able to solve the greatest societal issues we have in our world,” she said calmly, taking off her glasses. “I’m sure you can understand my plight, but to be completely honest, I was surprised at myself for even thinking that it would be possible for a woman to become an Auror.” 

“Miss McGonagall,” he said, looking at her with a strong gaze that Minerva couldn’t quite decipher. 

“There are some things that take a very, very long time to change,” Minerva interrupted before he could say anything else, holding his look. “I don’t think a seventeen year old Hogwarts student is the right face for it.” 

Professor Dumbledore just nodded, picked up his wand, and went back to the lesson. He didn’t bring it up again. Amelia was on patrol right afterwards and she was waiting around Professor Dumbledore’s office when Minerva came out. 

“You know, these Prefect patrols are supposed to be of the whole school,” Minerva said, walking step-in-step with Amelia. She just rolled her eyes. 

“For your information, I’m on duty for this section of the castle, Min,” she said, her brown eyes glinting a little in the dim light and her brown hair swept up neatly in a ponytail—she was probably just out flying before patrols. “And I just happened to be near Dumbledore’s office when you came out of those little secret lessons you think are secrets.” 

Minerva’s eyes widened. “Wh-what are you talking about?” 

Amelia just laughed. “You’re not the best at secrets, Min, to be completely honest with you. It’s the whole noble Gryffindor thing. You’re gone quite conveniently every Thursday at eight on the dot. You do realise we’re dorm-mates, right?” 

Minerva just blushed a little and scratched her neck. “It’s just some extra tutoring,” she lied. Amelia just gave her a “do you think I’m dumb?” look. 

“Since when did you need help with Transfiguration?”

“Professor Dumbledore has me working on some more advanced studies,” she said and it _was_ the truth. Amelia narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. 

“Anyways, what I’m really here for is to ask you to Hogsmeade with me,” she said, looping her arm. “This weekend. And I’ll buy the drinks.” 

Minerva grinned, pulling Amelia closer. “I was wondering when you’d ask,” she replied, “it’s been a while.” 

Amelia’s smile was the brightest Minerva’d seen in some time and they walked all the way back to the common room arm in arm, talking about Quidditch and how they were going to win the cup this year because Amelia really was training them harder than ever and how Minerva was studying than ever and it really showed—Min, you should really take a break from now and then—yeah, I am, Amelia, I’m going to Hogsmeade with you this weekend and we’re getting wasted—and Minerva tucked her textbooks away for the day as Amelia pulled out a game of chess and they talked and played into the night even though they both had class tomorrow. 

Augusta was with Frank for that Saturday into Hogsmeade and Amelia held her hand tight in hers as she led them down to The Three Broomsticks, ordering two Firewhiskeys. Minerva’s glasses immediately fogged up once they stepped in and she breathed in her hands, trying to warm them up. 

“How was your birthday?” Minerva asked. She had sent a card and popped in for a Firecall, but Amelia was a little busy with her family—like most years—and because it always fell smack dab in the middle of winter break, Minerva had yet to actually spend Amelia’s birthday with Amelia. 

“Oh just amazing,” she said, lighting up. Minerva sat back and watched as her hands animatedly danced as she talked about the giant pinata that her brother Edgar had set up—he was in Hufflepuff and Amelia was surprised to get something so extravagant from a Puff—and sipped at her Firewhiskey, feeling the drink burn down her throat and wondered if there was anywhere she could order muggle drinks, perhaps a scotch like her father always drank at New Year’s. 

“Anywhere here that you think we could get a muggle drink?” she asked, as Amelia finished up and Minerva talked about how she wished she was there and Amelia’s eyes just gleamed with mischief. 

“Well,” Amelia began. “There is, but I’m afraid it’s a bit… seedy, if you know what I mean.” 

Minerva raised an eyebrow and downed the rest of her drink. “Well, we’re not Gryffindors for nothing.” 

Amelia just laughed and threw down some Galleons, grabbing Minerva’s hand and leading them down the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, all the way to the very edge of town where they stood before a rather run-down, beaten up building with the sign “The Hog’s Head” just on the verge of falling off. 

“Come on,” Minerva said, leading them in, Amelia looking slightly apprehensive. “Do I need to make a bet on this for you to join me?” she joked. Amelia just laughed a little and nudged her in the ribs. 

“Shut it, McGonagall.” 

Very much unlike The Three Broomsticks, The Hog’s Head was dark and dim, with few customers this early in the day, and the ones that were sitting littered around the pub seemed to be stragglers, very much alone, very much unlike Minerva and Amelia who were standing there, arm in arm. 

“Hey, you! You goin’ to order somethin’?” a gruff voice said, the bartender waving a rag at them. Minerva ignored his rough tone and glanced behind the bar, trying to look for any bottles displayed. There weren’t any. 

“Do you have any muggle scotch?” she asked politely, sitting down in a booth and glaring at Amelia to do the same. 

“You two look to be Hogwarts students,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. He had red hair that looked like it’d been washed out a little and piercing blue eyes that Minerva couldn’t quite place. 

“No, just in for the weekend,” she replied with ease. 

“Only a few bottles of scotch,” he said. 

“Whatever you have works,” she said calmly and looked over to Amelia, who gave her a smirk. 

“Finally living a little,” Amelia commented, raising both of her eyebrows at Minerva. “ _Someone’s_ taught you well.” 

Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

The bartender came back with a heavy glass bottle of a very familiar alcohol. 

“How much for the whole bottle?” Minerva asked, staring him right in the eye. He looked a little surprised but didn’t question them. 

“Five galleons.”

“We’ll take it,” she said, taking out her wallet. “Have a good day.” 

He didn’t say anything else and Minerva shrank the bottle and tucked it into her pocket, rushing out of the pub. 

“Minerva McGonagall,” Amelia gasped, as they were walking back to Hogwarts, hitting her lightly on the arm. “Who knew you had it in you?” Minerva raised her eyebrows.

“We’re both seventeen,” she said. “Nothing I did was illegal.” 

“We’re both legal for _wizards_ ,” Amelia just said, but she nudged her and once they got through the castle gates, pulled her aside and up several flights of stairs. “Here, I wanted to show you this. Something a little different from our Astronomy Tower view.” 

Amelia gestured Minerva through a series of corridors until they reached a large window, one that was backed by a giant set of hands, the ones of a clock. 

“Amelia! Are we even allowed up here?” 

“Who cares?” 

Minerva leaned up against the glass, scanning from the Black Lake to the Forbidden Forest to the vast grounds of Hogwarts. She pulled out the bottle from her pocket and spelled it back to its normal size, summoning a set of glasses along with it. 

“Can’t we just drink from the bottle?” Amelia whined, just a little, but Minerva knew she was joking. 

“Just because we’re in Gryffindor doesn’t mean we can’t have a bit of class,” Minerva just shot back and poured out a finger of scotch for the both of them. 

“To us,” she said, clinking her drink with Amelia’s as they sat on the ledge, overlooking Hogwarts just like they did on the Astronomy Tower after a long, sweeping session of flying. Amelia grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. 

Close enough to kiss. 

Minerva immediately pulled away. Amelia looked taken aback. 

“I—” she started, until she realised that she didn’t know what to say. 

“Minerva,” Amelia said slowly, dragging out her name. “This was a _date.”_

Minerva just stared at her. 

“Oh.” 

Amelia frowned. “What the hell did you think this was?” 

Minerva was silent. 

“I _kissed_ you, for fuck’s sake! You kissed me back!” 

Minerva thought about all the things she’d heard, about women who lived with other women as _more_ , women that were strange, in a way that didn’t follow God even though Minerva’d stopped believing in Him long ago. 

“I’m not a lesbian!” Minerva heard herself saying. The word was uncomfortable, unfamiliar on her tongue. 

Amelia flinched. 

“That was a mistake! I don’t like girls!”

Minerva frowned a little but continued. “I’m not a _dyke.”_ She spat the word, crude and foreign. 

Amelia’s face hardened and she sat up straighter. 

“Fine.” 

She set her glass down on the ledge with a thud and swept out of the tower. Minerva heard her footsteps echoing in the stairway. 

Amelia didn’t speak to Minerva for the rest of the year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop and we're starting to get in the thick of it! a bit of a cliff hanger on this one but i hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some internalized homophobia.

The summer before seventh year, Minerva spent her summers with Augusta and sometimes with Frank as well, along with her brothers (Malcolm had invited Pomona Sprout over as they were friends now and Minerva just teased them both) because it was pretty clear that Amelia didn’t want to speak to her again—and to be quite frank, Minerva didn’t really want to speak to her either—and Augusta questioned them both about it for three whole months before she gave up and just resigned to the fact that their little trio was a trio no more. 

Minerva decided to just not think about Amelia because there simply must’ve been something just wrong with how Amelia, a girl, kissed Minerva, who was also a girl and Minerva had all this Animagus theory to get through anyways and Professor Dumbledore said that he would be starting up with the Mandrake leaf right as term started so Minerva wanted to know it even better than she already did and when her Hogwarts letter arrived for her last year—how could she be graduating already?—a Head Girl’s badge fell out, along with the Quidditch Captain one and Mother gasped when she saw and Robert just groaned about how he was always in her shadow and Malcom just pranced around, chanting that Minerva was Head Girl. Papa kissed her on the cheek because she was getting too tall to really be picked up anymore and they sat down for one of Minerva’s favourite dinners and she spent the evening chasing her brothers around in the yard like they were little. 

Minerva went back to Hogwarts on the Express with Augusta in her cabin, a little like their first year and all Augusta could talk about was Frank this and Frank that and normally, Minerva would just roll her eyes, but she just listened and let Augusta’s voice wash over her and ignored the very empty seat that Amelia would’ve occupied. 

She thought about what Amelia would be saying—maybe she would be complaining about Edgar or annoyed at Minerva for the fact that she got Quidditch Captain instead of her this year (she still wasn’t quite sure _how_ she’d beat Amelia out for that position) or maybe she would be lamenting about whatever was going on in the news about the Ministry that Minerva never quite found the time to keep up with (in reality she was just sick and tired of hearing _bad_ things all the time and part of her wasn’t willing to admit that the wizarding world had just the same issues, if not more, than the muggle world) and Minerva thought about all the things she’d said and the words she used. 

“What the hell is up with you, Min?” 

“Huh?”

“I was talking about how annoying Transfiguration was and you just nodded along,” Augusta said, looking at her strangely. 

“Oh, uh—”

“Minerva,” Augusta said pointedly. “This is about Amelia, isn’t it? What in Merlin’s pants happened between you two? I tried for months trying to pry a word out of either of you.” 

Minerva just looked at her hands. “Well, whatever it is you two better fix it because I’m sick and tired of balancing my two best friends,” Augusta continued, matter-of-fact. Minerva didn’t know what to say. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Minerva said after awhile. Augusta just sniffed and told her that it’d better be soon and Minerva cracked a small smile. The train crackled its way to Hogwarts, sweeping through the Scottish highlands as Minerva told her stories about her brothers over the summer and how she was reading more than ever—really, Min, you need to get out more, Augusta just said with a look and Minerva rolled her eyes—and she tried to ignore the fact that her best friend wasn’t with them in their carriage like normal years and she caught Amelia’s eye at the Sorting Feast but she just looked away and Minerva felt something like a pang in her chest. 

She missed Amelia. 

She _liked_ Amelia. 

It wasn’t normal, echoed in her head. Wasn’t _right._ A sin. 

Minerva didn’t want to think about what her father would say. What her mother would say. She didn’t want to think about it so she didn’t and she was Head Girl and she met up with Raymond Creek, a Ravenclaw, the Head Boy after the feast and introduced herself and he gave her hand a firm shake and a professional smile that Minerva appreciated more than anything else because she’d just remembered that Amelia was still on the Quidditch team and Minerva had taken her position as Captain and there had to be some animosity there and Minerva simply wasn’t up for any more drama this year.

She showed up in Professor Dumbledore’s office bright eyed and bushy tailed because she was going to start the first part of becoming an Animagus—the Mandrake leaf—and she’d completely forgotten about Amelia and was bouncing on her feet. 

“Before we begin, Miss McGonagall, I’m going to give you one more chance to back out of this.” 

Minerva just grinned at him. “It’s like you don’t even know me, Professor.” 

Professor Dumbledore chuckled and passed her the jar that contained a few leaves. “Whenever you’d like to begin, Miss McGonagall.” 

Her smile was so wide her cheeks were starting to hurt. She eagerly fished one of the leaves out, taking a quick sip of water, and then placed it into her mouth. It was a little fuzzy and tasted somewhat bitter. Professor Dumbledore grinned. 

“Best of luck! I’ll see you on the next full moon,” he said, winking at her. Minerva tried to say thanks but found that she almost spat the leaf out. 

This was going to be harder than she’d thought. 

The month dragged on. Around a week in, she had finally figured out how to hold the leaf at just the side of her mouth, enough that she could talk with some ease and still eat. Around two weeks in, the leaf was truly disgusting and Minerva wanted nothing more than to spit it out and rinse her mouth out with soap. By the time the next full month rose, Minerva’d gone through endless classes, started her prep for Quidditch tryouts, and had yet to talk to Amelia even though they were the most senior on the team. She was sure that Augusta glared at her harder with each day but Minerva was everywhere with everything and there were things less pressing on her mind about whether or not she had _wanted_ to kiss Amelia when she knew that she had. The minute Minerva could run down to Professor Dumbledore’s office, she did, knocking somewhat frantically on the door. 

He was sitting at his desk, presumably marking papers and gave her a grin when she walked in. 

“Ah, Miss McGonagall. I’m afraid there’s still a day until the full moon,” he said. Minerva glared at him.

“Not funny,” she said as clearly as she could. He just laughed and summoned a vial from his many, many bookshelves. 

“Come closer to the window,” he instructed, holding up the crystal flask. “While you were having a grand old time with that Mandrake leaf there, I’d taken the liberty of collecting the rest of the ingredients required for the potion.” 

He looked out the window, clearly examining the moon for a strong ray. 

“Here, sir,” Minerva said, pointing to a small sliver on the ledge. 

“Ah, marvellous,” he commented, holding out the vial in front of her. “Go ahead.” 

Minerva spit the leaf into the bottle, refused to look at it, and summoned a glass of water to rinse out the taste. She gave a huge sigh and Professor Dumbledore chuckled. 

“I imagine that mustn’t be the best taste,” he hummed, holding out his palm and Minerva quickly plucked one of her hairs as he placed the vial into the moonlight. It remained clear and both of let out a breath of relief. 

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Professor Dumbledore said, placing Minerva’s hair, a teaspoon of dew, and the chrysalis of a death’s-head hawk moth into the mixture. “Ah, there we go,” he said, lifting up the potion and tucking it away into a dark cabinet. “Well, my dear, you know what to do.” 

Minerva grinned and raised her wand to her heart. 

_“Amato Animo Animato Animagus,”_ she chanted, letting the magic slip out of her wand, strong, clear, and deliberate. Nothing changed, but she didn’t expect it too. 

“Good work, Miss McGonagall,” Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. Minerva smiled. 

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, beaming. 

“Now, I think after all that you deserve a sweet meal after that awful tasting leaf,” he commenting, snapping his fingers. “Tilly!” 

A small house-elf appeared with a pop before them. “Yes, sir?” 

“If you could bring up a sweet mince cake for Miss McGonagall, please.”

The elf nodded, bowed, and disappeared just as quick as it came. Minerva looked at Professor Dumbledore with surprise. 

“I’ve heard that you play,” he continued, summoning a chess board from his shelves. 

“I bet I could beat you,” she said, feeling cocky. Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” he replied, spinning the board for her to play white. Minerva smirked and two hours later, he surrendered his king and Minerva gave him her well-earned “I told you so” and then said good night and Professor Dumbledore reminded her to perform the spell every dawn and dusk and Minerva just rolled her eyes and told him that she knew that from the endless textbooks he had given her and headed back to her dormitory and forgot about the fact that Amelia’s curtains were tightly drawn like they always were. 

Amelia showed up to Quidditch trials the next day and Minerva wished that she could ask her for help with picking team members because this was something the two of them always did together but Amelia was on the other side of the pitch talking to Archie and Regina, the two Beaters from last year. Minerva tried to ignore it. She performed her Animagus spell day and night, right at the crack of dawn and right before the sun started to set and thought about what Augusta said and the things she’d heard and how much she missed Amelia and how much she wanted this thing that she shouldn’t have wanted in the first place. 

The day after Gryffindor won the game against Hufflepuff, Minerva pulled Amelia into the changeroom, the first time she’d touched her since last winter, and pulled her close, holding her tight—

“What the _fuck?”_

Amelia looked at Minerva as if she was disgusted with her. 

“You don’t get to do this,” Amelia said. 

“Amelia—”

“No, Minerva, you don’t get to come back here, wanting to do whatever the hell you’re doing, after that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Minerva said, as quickly as she could, because she _was._ “Amelia, I didn’t know better—I’m so sorry—” 

Amelia paused, looking at her, all sweaty and gross and warm. 

“I said some awful things,” Minerva whispered. 

“You did.” 

“I hurt you,” she said, leaning her forehead against Amelia’s. 

“You did.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Amelia pursued her lips. 

“Min,” she whispered. “Give me some time.” 

Minerva nodded, something heavy in her throat. 

“Okay.” 

“Just—just give me some time.” 

“Okay.” 

By the time Professor Dumbledore sent her a Patronus with the message “eggplant”—that there was an electrical storm coming—it was well into December and Minerva already had one job offer from the Ministry, from the Portkey Office and she was talking to Amelia again and they were going to Hogsmeade with Augusta again, as their little group, and Amelia’s drapes were clear off her bed and Gryffindor had won their match against Ravenclaw, setting them well into the way for the Cup. 

Minerva raced from the library to Professor Dumbledore’s office, running as fast as she could and didn’t even bother knocking. 

“Are you sure?” 

Professor Dumbledore just pointed to his window and true to his word, there was a storm brewing and two of the magical instruments sitting around his office were spinning, whirring, unlike Minerva’d ever seen them before. 

“I haven’t felt the heartbeat yet, though,” Minerva pointed out. 

“Have a little faith,” Professor Dumbledore simply said. “Perform the spell once again; the sun’s almost set.” 

Minerva nodded and pointed her wand to her chest, chanting the spell. A strong beat, one right beside her heartbeat, pounded. Minerva nearly jumped and she thought she might’ve gasped as well. 

Professor Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. 

“Oh—” 

“We got quite lucky with this one,” he commented. “Getting an electrical storm so early on.” 

“Professor! It was there!” 

Professor Dumbledore was smiling. 

“Are you ready?” 

Minerva nodded. The lightning struck a few moments later, bright, strong, and the potion fizzled, immediately turning into a bright crimson. Minerva watched in fascination. Professor Dumbledore picked up the vial once it stopped smoking. 

Minerva held her wand to her chest and performed the spell once more, the second heartbeat stronger this time. It was right in time with hers. She pulled herself taller and took the bottle from Professor Dumbledore, taking a deep breath. 

“Remember to remain calm once you have transformed. You will need to be able to reimagine yourself to transform back. I would hate for my star student to become a permanent toad,” he joked. Minerva glared at him. 

“Yes sir,” she said seriously. “You don’t really think I’ll be a _toad_ , do you?” 

Professor Dumbledore just laughed. “Whenever you’re ready, Minerva.” 

The vial was a warm in her hand and Minerva gave Professor Dumbledore one last glance before drinking it. It burned her throat a little—

Her body was overcome by a complete burning sensation as if her limbs were on fire and there was a beat loud and strong in her ears and she thought she saw Professor Dumbledore’s lips moving but she couldn’t hear a thing and her arms and legs were on fire and everything was just so hot, in a way that Minerva thought her skin would be peeling off but then, just for a second, everything cleared and an image of a grey tabby cat appeared before her and her first thought was thank Merlin it wasn’t a toad and then the burning came back and Minerva thought she was going to become deaf with how goddamn _loud_ the heartbeat was and then it wasn’t. 

With a pop, her vision was sharper, brighter, and she was the height of Professor Dumbledore’s shoe and when she looked up he was the tallest thing she’d ever seen—even when she saw him standing on the steps in her first year—and she pawed a little at his robes, trying to speak and only a small “meow” sounding throughout. 

Professor Dumbledore was saying something but Minerva couldn’t quite hear it, too busy with navigating the world from this much smaller, sharper point of view, of how big everything seemed. 

“Minerva, Minerva!” Professor Dumbledore snapped, kneeling down. He was still a giant. “I need you to concentrate. You need to transform back.” 

Minerva focused, nodded, and tried to envision herself before her, in her student robes and Gryffindor tie and glasses—

Nothing happened. She frowned. She pawed at Professor Dumbledore’s robes again. 

“Remember, it will take a couple of tries,” he said. 

On her seventh try, she thought hard about Augusta and Amelia and what they were going to say when she finally showed them what the hell she’d been working on for the past year, and with a small pop, she appeared much taller, no longer on the floor, swayed a little and grinned brightly at Professor Dumbledore. 

“I did it!” she exclaimed, wanting to jump up and down like a child. She barrelled into Professor Dumbledore, hugging him tight. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

He seemed a little taken aback but patted her back. “The work was all yours, Minerva,” he simply said. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Minerva smiled the brightest she ever had. 

She practiced transforming and then transforming three more times until Professor Dumbledore told her that it was enough, that it would tap into her magical stores and she complied, exhausted and was ready to crawl into bed. Professor Dumbledore said that he would have her registered by the morning and Minerva scrambled back to the common room, and with a pop, transformed once she was at the stairs into the girls’ dormitory. 

Things looked so different from this view, she mused, sprinting up the stairs as fast as she could in her new form. She could hear Augusta talking once she reached the top, slightly winded. 

She pawed the door open and headed immediately for Augusta’s bed, using her claws to lift herself up onto the mattress, wanting to laugh when Augusta gasped. 

“Did any of you get a new cat?” 

Amelia shook her head. Minerva purred and pushed her head against Augusta’s leg. Then, with a pop, she transformed and everyone in the room screamed. 

“Minerva!” 

She just grinned. 

“Surprise!” 

“What?” 

“How?” 

Minerva launched into an explanation of how she convinced Professor Dumbledore into teaching her the studies, of how she had to convince her parents in turn, and then keep it all a secret, and that’s why she was talking weird for a whole month—no, Augusta, she just had her tongue trapped to the top of her mouth, you idiot—and this means that you can sneak around more!—Amelia, I’m Head Girl I don’t need to sneak around—and they all barrelled in a group hug and they both said that they’d treat Minerva to a drink right before Christmas and the next morning there was an article of _Transfiguration Today_ with her name blazed across the cover page, Minerva McGonagall, youngest Animagus _EVER!_

Minerva got piss drunk that weekend and laughed her way into the winter break, holding out the magazine for her parents to see and popping into her tabby form, chasing Malcom around and pretending to rip up Robert’s robes and Mother was so proud that she teared up a little and Papa spun her around the living room and she dropped by Amelia’s right after Christmas and they soared into the sky just like they did when they were in second year when Minerva was still learning to fly and the rules of Quidditch and Minerva’s heart was so full that she thought it’s burst when she rang in 1954 with a drink, smile, and held her family close. 

She went back to Hogwarts with another job offer from the Ministry, this time from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, arm in arm with Amelia and Augusta, an interview with _Transfiguration Today_ , and winner of their Newcomer’s Award. 

When the next Quidditch match came around, this time Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the last game of the year—if Gryffindor won this, Gryffindor won the cup—Minerva was riding on a high until a Bludger came her way out of nowhere and she was a pinch too slow and the wind was a bit too strong and she plummeted, all the way to the ground, and then everything went dark.

When Minerva slowly blinked her eyes open, _everything_ hurt. It wasn’t as painful as her first Animagus transformation, but it was close. She groaned, trying to shift around and then realised that she couldn’t, that she was completely frozen to the bed. 

She blinked, trying to wake herself. 

Someone was holding her hand. 

Then, it all came rushing back, the Quidditch game, how she’d scored the first four goals, how things were going just right even though Slytherin was up ten points, and then the Bludger hit her in her ribs and her hand went to her stomach and how she lost grip on her broom—her first time ever—and heard Amelia screaming her name. 

“Did we win?” she gasped out, trying to sit up and found that she absolutely couldn’t. The hand that was holding hers pushed her back. 

“Minerva, Minerva, calm down,” Mother said. 

“Mother?” 

“You fell from your broom, stupid girl, so just calm down for a second,” she reprimanded, stern. 

“Did we lose the match?” 

She couldn’t quite see, but she could feel Mother rolling her eyes. 

“Minerva!” another voice said, loud and Mother just shushed her. This time, it was Minerva who rolled her eyes. 

“Amelia, did we win the match?” 

Amelia just ignored her question and flounced down beside her. 

“God, I ripped into Archie and Regina so hard, Min, you’d be surprised,” she rambled, avoiding Minerva’s eyes. “I thought you were going to die, you idiot.” 

Mother gave a small laugh and just cupped Minerva’s cheek. 

“You gave us quite a scare, young lady,” she quipped, sitting up straight again. 

“Amelia,” Minerva ground out, almost gritting her teeth. “What happened with the match?” 

Amelia sighed and Minerva’s heart sank. 

“Slytherin won.”

Minerva just closed her eyes and sank back into the pillows, moaning and it wasn’t from the pain of her injuries. (She guessed that she probably had a couple of broken ribs and something messed up with her back.) 

“How long has it been?” she asked, as calm as she could. 

“Just a few hours,” Amelia answered. “I think Augusta was going to set the Slytherin Beaters’ hair on fire,” she said, trying to joke. Minerva just shoved her face into her pillow. 

“We lost?” 

Amelia just looked at her. 

“Yeah.” 

“We lost?” 

“Yeah, Min. We did.” 

Minerva closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to perceive anything. 

“Y’know Min, it really isn’t the end of the world—”

“Says you!” 

“Hey, I thought you died, so forgive me if I’m not too worried about the outcome of the game!” 

Minerva opened her eyes again and all she saw was pain on Amelia’s and Mother’s faces. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, gripping both of their hands. “Sorry.” 

Mother just kissed her forehead and Amelia squeezed her hand. 

“Augusta’s coming soon, too—” 

Amelia really didn’t need to say it because Augusta barrelled into the Hospital Wing, pushing aside the nurse, along with Professor Dumbledore whom she spotted right in the corner, and barely stopped at Minerva’s bed. 

“Merlin, Minerva!” 

“I’m not dead,” Minerva sang, smiling. 

“Oh, I’d hug you if you didn’t break fifteen thousand different bones,” she said, grinning. 

“I do believe it was six different bones, Miss Fawley,” Professor Dumbledore said, cutting in. 

“Sorry about the Cup, sir,” Minerva said, bowing her head. Amelia just scoffed. She was clearly calling Minerva an idiot, but couldn’t with a professor around. Obviously, it didn’t stop her from doing so in front of Minerva’s mother, but that was just Amelia for you. 

“Miss McGonagall, I’d much rather see my student alive than have the Quidditch Cup in my office, as nice as an achievement that is,” he said, placing a hand on the end of her bed. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied. 

“I think it’s good time for Minerva to rest,” Mother said sternly, ushering everyone out of the Hospital Wing. Amelia and Augusta both said that they’d be waiting for her in their dormitory with a treat—this was said with multiple winks from the both of them and Minerva just rolled her eyes—and Professor Dumbledore just wished her well. 

“Thank God neither of your brothers play Quidditch because your father is livid,” Mother commented, clearly worried. Minerva squeezed her hand. 

“Mother, I’ll be fine,” she said, even though she knew that this was most likely the end of her chance at any sort of professional Quidditch career. Even if she told herself it wasn’t something she had particularly wanted in the first place. Mother gave her a stare that she was well-familiar with—the one that said that she knew better and you ought not to be lying. 

“I am sorry that you lost the Cup though,” Mother said, sympathetic. Minerva just groaned again. 

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Mother,” she complained, a little dramatic. Mother just laughed. 

Minerva was released from the Hospital Wing after much moaning and groaning about how she had classwork to do and homework to finish and essays to write that Healer Merryweather eventually just gave into her demands and sent her on her way three days afterwards and that weekend, Amelia and Augusta surprised her with two bottles of Firewhiskey that they finished in a couple of hours, completely wasted. 

“Can you believe we’re graduating this year?” Amelia commented, hiccuping. She stared out of the window of their dorm, overlooking the Forbidden Forest. 

“Absolutely not,” Augusta replied, crawling over to where Amelia was and almost flopping down beside her. 

“When the hell are you two going to get your act together anyways?” she slurred. “Frank and I are going to be married right after we graduate,” she continued. Minerva, even in her somewhat drunken haze, shot upright. 

“Married?”

Augusta nodded, giggling. She held out her left hand, showing a beautiful diamond ring on her fourth finger. 

“He proposed yesterday!” 

“Gussie!” Amelia and Minerva both screamed, scrambling over to her and engulfing Augusta in a hug. “You’re getting married!” 

“Married!”

“You! Augusta!” 

“Yes! You’re looking at Mrs. Frank Longbottom,” Augusta squealed. Amelia scrunched her nose. 

“Maybe don’t take his last name,” she suggested and the three of them just burst into laughter. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” Minerva exclaimed. Amelia rolled her eyes. 

“Min, you’ve got to be blind. The whole school saw this one coming,” she said, grabbing Augusta’s left hand. “Let’s see this ring, properly!” Amelia hiccuped again and Augusta giggled loudly. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” 

“Sure is,” Minerva replied, slurring her words just a little. They did have a quite a bit to drink. The diamond was very bright on Augusta’s finger. 

“Anyways, what was I talking about again?” Augusta mused, tilting her head. “Oh yeah! You two,” she continued, wagging her finger at the two of them, stumbling a little as she stood up. 

“Wait, no! Who’s going to be your maid of honour?” Minerva asked, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. Dear Lord, she really had too much to drink. 

Augusta just squinted at them, examining them close. Then, she pointed her finger between them and waved it wildly. 

“Hey! You nearly poked my eye out!” Amelia yelled, swatting Augusta’s hand away. 

“Guess you’re not my maid of honour,” Augusta giggled, looking at Minerva. “Min, Min, Min.” 

Minerva laughed and barrelled into Augusta, stumbling slightly, swaying a little as she hugged her first proper friend hard.

“I’d be honoured,” she said, trying not to slur her words. 

“Hey! What about me?” 

Augusta stuck her tongue out. “You didn’t let me poke out your eye.” 

The three of them dissolved into laughter for the rest of the night and Minerva’s heart was so warm in their dormitory of theirs, her entire body so warm with her friends, some of the people that she loved the most in the world and when Amelia announced that she’d also received an offer from the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Minerva squealed—she didn’t even know she was capable of it—and hugged Amelia hard and talked about how they could share a flat in London and Amelia just beamed and they invited Augusta along until she got married, before Frank Longbottom was going to steal her from them, they joked and Minerva, even though Gryffindor lost the Quidditch Cup, and consequently the House Cup at the end of the year as well, she laughed her whole way to graduation, in the place that she called home, in the walls that she’d grown up in, shook Professor Dumbledore’s hand and then gave him a hug as her family watched from the crowd as she gave her speech as Head Girl and then they were throwing their caps into the air, the joy almost literally in the sky and Minerva pulled her family close and her friends even closer. 

She graduated with honours, as an Animagus, Head Girl, and Quidditch Captain, with her friends right beside and a job offer and a summer in Caithness before she moved to London and even though she was leaving Hogwarts, Minerva knew that she was never truly gone. 

The day before graduation, when their trunks were all packed and their dormitory bare, Minerva kept her broom out and dragged Amelia out early in the morning, nearly needing to dump a cup of water on her. They soared through the skies like they always did—though Minerva did have some nerves, her first time in the sky since they’d lost the match—and landed at the Astronomy Tower. 

“Strange that this’ll be the last time we’re here, huh?” Amelia mused, looking out over the Black Lake. The sun was just beginning to rise, just peaking over the horizon. 

“Yeah,” Minerva said. “I’m glad that we’re both at the Ministry.” 

“Me too,” Amelia said back. Minerva grabbed her hand. 

“I’m even happier that we’re sharing a flat,” she added, facing Amelia. She smiled. 

“I had to; who else is going to keep it clean?” 

Minerva rolled her eyes. “You idiot.”

She pulled Amelia closer. 

“Is, is this okay?” she whispered. Amelia nodded. 

“Yeah. It’s okay.” 

“I’m going to kiss you,” she said, watching Amelia closely. 

“Okay.” 

And Minerva kissed Amelia softly, like the first time Amelia kissed her, and it was unlike Jamie or anything she’d ever felt and Amelia was so warm and so close and Minerva was kissing her best friend, the girl she’d known since they were eleven, the woman that knew every single part of her and everything just clicked, about how _right_ it felt, how it was both the same and different from before. If it felt this good, how on Earth could it be a sin? 

Minerva pulled back, leaning her head on Amelia’s shoulder as they watched the sunrise. 

“Come to France with me,” Amelia whispered, her breath warm against Minerva’s cheek. “As a graduation trip.”

“Okay.” 

Amelia held onto her hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the editing that i had to go through with this chapter... whew! i hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think :)


	8. Chapter 8

Minerva spent the summer of 1954 in Caithness, like she always did because Amelia was in France with her family (Amelia later said balefully that the invitation was a spur of the moment thing and she was sure that Minerva didn’t  _ really  _ want to spend the hot months hopping Europe  _ and  _ Edgar was a pain in the arse anyways and Minerva just laughed and told her that it was okay even though she had already told Mother and Papa and was looking forward to it) and Augusta was with Frank and his family for most of it—planning the wedding you see, Min, it’s a very long process, you know—helping her mother with the chores, running down to the marketplace, and basking in the memories that was her childhood home because for Merlin’s sake, she was turning nineteen this year with a real job and a real flat and as Professor Dumbledore would say, “a lollipop bright future, my dear.” 

Robert was heading into his fourth year and Malcolm his second and Minerva couldn’t wait until she could show up to their graduation to embarrass them and see Hogwarts again because honestly, she still couldn’t believe she was gone for good, away from the place that she had spent the best years of her life at. 

Mother was right, and Minerva mentioned it one day while they were both washing up in the sink after dinner when Papa had retreated to his office to finish up his drafts for his sermons. 

“Darling, when have I ever been wrong,” she simply replied, turning off the faucet. Minerva carefully studied her mother. She had gotten older in the past couple of years, her hair starting to grey more at the temple, the lines more pronounced near her lips and her eyes. Minerva wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. 

“When, when did you know you wanted to marry Papa?” Minerva heard herself asking, leaning against the counter. Mother smiled at her warmly, drying her hands with a tea towel. 

“About three days after I met him,” she said. 

Minerva raised her eyebrows and Mother just laughed. 

“Don’t look so surprised, dear,” she chided, wiping down the dining table. 

“It’s just that—” 

“I was never as in love with magic as you are, Minerva,” Mother said firmly, looking up at her. Then she frowned, staring at her intensely. 

“Minerva,” she started, coming up closer to her. Minerva looked at the ceiling. 

“Did, did you ever regret giving up magic?” she asked, bitting her lip, because for all she knew, her mother’s wand was still locked up somewhere in the house. Mother looked at her sadly and held onto her shoulders. 

“Minerva, your father gave me three of the greatest gifts in the world,” she replied, holding her tight. “Whatever I may or may not have given up for that was  _ my _ choice and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Minerva tried to smile. “It’s just—

“What, dear?”

“Did you ever resent me, for, for being magical? We all know that Papa’s face just has that look and we still don’t use magic and—” 

Mother’s jaw was dropped and her eyes were wide. 

“Minerva, dear is, is that what you’ve thought?” 

Her voice sounded pained. 

“Well—”

“Minerva, there is nothing that wouldn’t make me proud of you,” Mother said firmly, rubbing her hands up and down Minerva’s arms. “My giving up magic, living like a muggle, those were  _ my _ choices. There has not been a single day where I am not proud of you, Minerva. Magical or not.” 

Minerva felt her eyes burning and laughed a little. 

“I was just being stupid,” she said, hugging Mother. She buried her nose into her hair, now that she was taller than her by a good couple inches, how she smelled like soap and a hint of rosemary and home. 

Mother’s eyes were a little misty. “You’re never stupid, Miss Head Girl,” she joked, wagging a finger at her. “Now, why with all the questions about your Papa? Is there a boy?” 

Minerva laughed again and blushed and let her mother question her about her last year at Hogwarts and she told her everything—except the whole Amelia thing and the whole booze bit too—and Minerva studied up on some legal theory later on the evening and she wrote to Amelia, who talked about the beauties of Southern France and how annoying Edgar was and how she wished that Minerva was here and she wrote Augusta as well, who would write scrolls and scrolls of parchment about her wedding plans and Minerva could just hear her excitement bleed off the page. 

One afternoon, after she’d sent off replies to Amelia and Augusta, she strolled down to the marketplace, where her father had often taken her as a child. It had gotten bigger, she idly noticed, walking amongst the stalls, filled with produce grown right out of Caithness. A swell of pride filled Minerva’s chest, that this little town,  _ her _ little town, created all of this from scratch. 

“How about a basket of tomatoes for the pretty miss?” 

Minerva spun around, looking behind her. A young man with dusty blonde hair standing behind a farmer’s stall was speaking to her. He was dressed in a smart pair of overalls and a red cap. 

“McGonagall, isn’t it?” Minerva casually slipped her hands into her pockets, coming closer. 

“Yes, Minerva,” she said, introducing herself and offering him his hand. He had an oddly crooked smile. 

“Dougal McGregor,” he said with a grin, giving her a firm handshake. “We went to primary school together, but I don’t expect you to remember.” 

Minerva’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, sorry about that,” she said, because quite honestly, she  _ didn’t _ remember who the hell he was. Her muggle life was soon to be long behind her. 

“Don’t be,” he said casually. “You were always the smartest girl in the class anyways. It wasn’t too hard to remember.”

Minerva smiled politely, looking down at the rows and rows of tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables before him. 

“How about I buy something from you,” she said, taking out her wallet. Mother did say they were low on carrots and beans. 

“Sure thing,” he said, grabbing a basket for her, loading it up with a little of everything. Minerva fished out a couple of bills and handed them to him. “Thanks,” Dougal said, looking at her a while longer. “How about I buy you a drink?” 

Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. 

“A little catch up of old-time primary school classmates?” he joked and Minerva laughed. 

“Sure,” she said because why the hell not, because it was summer and she was just maybe a little bored with her wand was tucked underneath her mattress in her room and Amelia was in France and Augusta was God-knows-where. 

He bought her a pint of beer and it didn’t taste as good as Butterbeer but he really was sweet when he smiled and he walked her home that night and she asked him if he wanted to see her again and he said yes and Minerva beamed a little and she still wasn’t sure what in Merlin’s Beard was the thing with Amelia because she never said anything and yeah, if Minerva was going to admit it, she was just a bit lonely because she thought that she was supposed to be going to France with Amelia, but now she was just stuck in Caithness and a nice guy asked her out. 

Dougal said yes and the next day he stopped by in the middle of the day and Mother opened the door and gave her a sly smile when Minerva quickly brushed through her hair before she got to the door and they spent the warm afternoon walking through the highlands of Scotland, when Dougal eventually showed her the McGregor Farm. 

“Pop’s going to give it to me,” he said proudly, standing before their sheep. It was beautiful, tucked away into a small corner of the world. Minerva grabbed his hand and told him so. He just laughed. 

“You won’t find it so pretty at six in the morning,” he quipped. Minerva shook her head. 

“You forgot that you’re talking to the Reverend’s daughter,” she replied. “Early mornings were my entire childhood.” 

“You know, I’m pretty surprised that you’re still here,” he commented, looking at her. Minerva frowned.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that you’re the Reverend’s daughter and you’ve just graduated from that fancy private boarding school of yours and you’re here with some farmer’s son,” he said, matter-of-factly. Minerva held on tight to his hand. 

“I’m here because I happen to like your company, Dougal McGregor,” she said, smiling. The corners of Dougal’s lips twitched. 

“My company, huh?” 

Minerva nodded. 

“Your company, yes,” she replied, because Amelia was in France and this thing with Dougal was very nice and Minerva didn’t have a lot of nice things just fall into her lap like this and he was everything Scotland, everything highland, everything her father would want. 

Dougal kissed her two weeks later, right on the mouth when they were watching the stars in his farm, when the rest of the world was asleep and Minerva was warm in his arms and she couldn’t help but think how different it was from Amelia, how he had a little stubble and it seemed that he didn’t really know what he was doing but he had a sweet smile and laughed at Minerva’s jokes and held her hand when they walked down the streets and Papa talked about how hardworking the McGregor lad was and Minerva almost blurted out that yes, she was seeing him, but just wrote back to Amelia even though it felt wrong. 

The summer flew by and Minerva spent day after day at the McGregor farm, helping Dougal out with the cows and the pigs and the sheep and sometimes in the kitchen, trying her best not to burn it down because she’d really gotten spoilt at Hogwarts with all those meals prepared because she’d wished she’d brought her wand when she saw the McGregor’s stove. 

She eventually met Mr. McGregor, an older, very kind man with greying hair and a slight hunch, who smiled brightly at her and winked at Dougal and welcomed her to their home and with a whisper, Miss McGonagall, to our family as well. 

Minerva blushed and rushed out to help Dougal with the crops. As August started to wane, they sat out on the back porch, lit just by the lone lamp at the door, swatting at mosquitoes and Minerva really wished that she had her wand with her. 

Dougal came out with two beers and handed to Minerva. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied and they watched the sky, the moon bright against the dark. Dougal reached for Minerva’s hand and she let him. 

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee. Minerva nearly dropped her bottle. 

“Minerva,” he began, looking up at her, eyes wide. No one had ever looked at her like that. Not even Amelia. “I know this is early and I know we haven’t dated for very long, but this summer has been the best of my life.” 

“Dougal—”

He raised a finger and Minerva closed her mouth. 

“Just, let me get this out. After, you can reject me as much as you’d like,” he said, chuckling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Minerva gasped. “I want to share the rest of my life with you, Minerva McGonagall. I’ve liked you since the minute you raised your hand in Mrs Cafferty’s class and I’ve loved you since you helped me shear Shelly out there.”

Minerva could hear her heart beating in her ears. 

“I want to grow old with you here. I want to see our children grow up in these fields,” he continued, looking at Minerva so earnestly that she wanted to cry. 

“I want that too,” she heard herself say. Dougal just laughed. 

“Let me finish,” he said. Minerva nodded, her vision blurring a little. “Minerva,” he went on, saying her name with so much love that Minerva thought she was going to cry. “Will you marry me?” 

She leapt into his arms and kissed him hard.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, pulling back. Minerva just swatted his arm. 

“Yes, that’s a yes, you idiot,” she replied, kissing him again. He slipped the ring onto her hand after and it felt heavy and cold and just right and Minerva nearly skipped home with glee and Dougal kissed her on her doorstep and she went to bed with a smile on her face and God—she was going to be Mrs Dougal McGregor. 

_ Min!  _

_ We have finally arrived back from France and while it was a marvellous trip—don’t get me wrong (terribly sorry again for leaving you in a lurch like that!)—I am so glad to be home and moving in our flat soon! I still can’t believe that we’re both at the Ministry and in the same department to boot!  _

_ Write me as soon as you can so we can get started with moving in. I’d love to talk to someone my age now—Edgar is great but he can really yabber your ear off. And to be completely honest, he is an absolute pain in the arse. How are you? How’s your summer been so far? I’m sure you’ve been busy because I’ve barely heard from you these past two months—Min, you know better than to avoid my letters; I’ll eventually show up on your doorstep to bother the everliving shit out of you. All I’ve heard from Augusta is wedding this and wedding that you’d think that she was marrying her wedding planner instead of Frank. Honestly, that woman sometimes.  _

_ I’ve sent some photos from France because I’m just so sorry again that you weren’t able to come but oh, how we’re going to start a new journey in September! Minerva, I’m so excited I can barely write this properly and I’m sure that you can tell. Tell me all about your summer! I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to write that often and I’m challenging you to a Quidditch game the minute you step through the Floo. Gotta keep those senses sharp! _

_ Love ya,  _

_ Amelia _

Minerva was engaged for a whole thirty-six hours, give or take. Dougal dropped to his knee on August 26th, 1954, and by the twenty-eighth, Minerva had realised that the sinking in her stomach wasn’t from nerves but from the fact that she still had a thing, whatever that may be, with Amelia and she was supposed to be moving in with her in London on the thirtieth and unlike Mother, Minerva didn’t think she could give up magic, not even for Dougal, and if she was completely honest with herself, not even for Amelia. 

She rushed to the McGregor farm and told Dougal that she simply couldn’t accept his proposal even though a small part of her really did want to, wanted to surprise her parents with this nice boy who always went to Church on Sundays and would make a good life for her, and eventually, their family. Told him with burning eyes that she had a job in London that she couldn’t turn down and a future that she couldn’t give up and he looked at her sadly and wished her the best of luck and Minerva felt something inside her crumble, just a little. 

She had her bags packed by the next day and was ready to Floo to Amelia’s to Apparate to their flat in London. 

“Know you’re always welcome back here, lass,” Papa said, hugging her hard as they stood in the living room. “Though, your room would make a lovely second office, what do you think, Isobel?” 

Mother just chuckled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Minerva on the forehead. “Don’t listen to your father, dear. He’s just being stupid.” 

Papa placed a hand on his chest, looking affronted. Everyone laughed and Robert and Malcolm came bounding down the stairs. 

“Is Minerva leaving?” Robert asked, looking excited. Minerva rolled her eyes. 

“Well, you could at least pretend to be sad about it,” she quipped. Robert shook his head, crossing his arms. 

“Well, finally! Mother, can I have her room?” 

Mother looked at him sternly and he immediately shut up. Minerva stifled a giggle. Malcolm flung himself at her waist, hugging her hard.

“We’ll miss you, Minerva!” She patted his back. 

“I’ll miss you too,” she said softly, ruffling his hair. “Make sure you behave at Hogwarts. Just because I’m not Head Girl doesn’t mean you can fool around and lose Gryffindor House points.” 

Malcolm gave her a beaming smile. “Robert’s the troublemaker here,” he tattled, looking up at her with innocent eyes. Robert glared at him. Minerva just laughed. 

“That goes for the both of you,” she quipped. “Just because we lost this year doesn’t mean that you can lose for next year.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Robert replied, rolling his eyes. “And you should get going!” he exclaimed, pushing Minerva towards the fireplace. This time, everyone laughed. Minerva hugged everyone again and eventually, all the McGonagalls piled together in the middle of the living room. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” Mother asked, twisting her hands a little nervously. Her eyes were bright. Minerva shook her head. 

“It’s okay. I’ll call to let you know when we’ve settled in and I’m just an Apparition Point away,” she said, reassuring them. “I’ll be back for Christmas, anyways.” 

Papa pulled her close again and held her tight. “I’m so proud of you, lass.” 

“I love you,” she said back, burying her face into his shoulder. “Don’t forget that.” 

He just chuckled. “I won’t, lass.” 

With a final wave and a kiss, Minerva said goodbye to her family with tears in her eyes and Floo-ed to Amelia’s and found her best friend slash girlfriend slash whatever barrel into her arms, almost like she’d jumped off a broom. 

“God, someone’s excited, huh?” Minerva commented, thinking about how just a couple of days ago she had another man’s ring on her finger and how she was right on the path of becoming a second version of her mother and how it should’ve been Amelia that she spent her entire summer with. 

“It’s so good to see you, idiot,” Amelia replied, looping her arm through hers. “One last game before we leave?” 

“Bet your sweet broom on it,” Minerva replied, grinning. 

They dashed off to the mini-pitch that Minerva’d spent countless summers at, soaring through the sky. It was midday when Amelia beat Minerva and they Portkeyed to London, landing in front of their flat with a pop, a somewhat shabby looking thing that was a couple of blocks from the Ministry and the sun was just starting to set and Minerva and Amelia settled into their respective rooms and Minerva’s window faced the street and Amelia bounded into her room to watch the sun disappear over the horizon with her. 

“We’re really here, huh,” she commented. They sat shoulder to shoulder, almost like they did in the Astronomy Tower back at Hogwarts. 

“Yeah,” Minerva whispered. “Yeah, we’re really here.” 

Minerva turned to face Amelia. “I’m really happy we’re here together,” she said, reaching for her hand. Amelia smiled, her face illuminated in the waning light. Minerva wondered how she could’ve, even for a second, thought about anyone other than Amelia. Her hand felt heavy, as if she was still wearing the ring. 

“Me too,” Amelia replied, holding onto her tight. 

Minerva didn’t know who did it first, but then she was kissing Amelia, her best friend, the woman that she’d spent a summer without and with another man, one that she’d almost married for fuck’s sake, and Amelia was so warm and solid and here and she felt a lot like home, too. 

Amelia then wished her good night and went back to her own room and Minerva just sat there for God knows how long, remembering how Amelia felt and how soft her skin was against hers and how different it was from Dougal and she wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing. 

Minerva made breakfast the next morning—or what could somewhat constitute as breakfast since she’d hadn’t really properly cooked in well, ever—and they went to their first day of work together, a lot like their first day of school except for the fact that they had different bosses and their lunch breaks barely overlapped and the most of what Minerva was doing was getting coffee and the most of what Amelia was doing was writing notes and they always came home exhausted. 

Minerva fell into Amelia’s bed—quite literally—a week after they’d started working at the Ministry and her sheets were so soft and also Quidditch patterned that Minerva laughed but Amelia just kissed her and told her to shut up and Amelia was kissing her, kissing her  _ hard  _ and her hands wandered down her waist and Minerva gasped a little and Amelia asked her if it was okay and Minerva said that it was and God, how Amelia felt and Minerva was soothed with a bliss that she’d only ever heard some of her classmates gush about and never really thought was true. It wasn’t a sin, wasn’t a sin,  _ couldn’t  _ be a sin. Minerva fell asleep with Amelia holding her and they woke up to the hustle and bustle of London and went out for breakfast because it was a Saturday and it’d been a long week and Minerva’d kill for a proper meal because Amelia really wasn’t much of a cook either and they ate their pancakes with their hands held together underneath the cafe table. 

Minerva never mentioned Dougal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to yell at me in the comments ;) hope you enjoyed this update! we're slowly approaching the end of part one and i'm trudging my way through part two and comments and kudos are an author's best friend. let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for a homophobic slur and some internalized homophobia.

If there was anything she’d learnt from the Ministry during her first couple of weeks, it was that it was nothing like Hogwarts. First and foremost, the whole damn thing was underground with a couple of notable exceptions and even though the Ministry, along with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, were most likely larger than Hogwarts combined, Minerva couldn’t help but feel trapped by the looming ceilings and dark walls. 

Second, she’d learnt quick that blood status, while something at Hogwarts that she’d dealt with regularly, was something much, _much_ bigger at the Ministry. People almost introduced themselves with pureblood or half-blood or the very, very rare muggle-born. 

Minerva didn’t really mention much of it herself, but her last name was a dead giveaway and she wondered if Amelia was dealing with any of this crap on her end until she remembered that Amelia was pureblood, even if she wasn’t of a particularly notable house.

Third, her boss was a very kind person but he was also most definitely just a little bit sexist. It wasn’t until she noticed that all of her very male, very incompetent fellow coworkers that started at the same time she did were getting promotions left and right and Minerva was finally upgraded to a bit of note-taking and a little less of coffee-grabbing. 

“Sir,” she started one day, walking into Elphinstone’s office—he insisted that everyone, even the lowest of the lows like Minerva, called him by his first name—with a brief that she had just typed up, “is there a reason Ivan and Richard and Henry have all been moved up but I haven’t?” 

He looked up at her, pausing his reading. “I beg your pardon?” 

“It’s just that we’ve all started at the same time and I’ve put in just the same, if not more, of the same work ethic and I’m better with spells than the any of them and I’d be willing to bet that I can out-duel them as well, so sir, I’m asking if there’s a reason they’ve all gotten promotions and I haven’t,” she finished, barrelling through and wondering if she hadn’t just lost herself her first job and any chance of employment with the Ministry later. 

“Well,” Elphinstone began, sitting back. “Women are clerks and secretaries, dear.” 

Minerva frowned. 

“I received a job offer from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if I remember correctly, sir,” she pressed, seething. She could feel her cheeks burning. 

“Yes, yes, in our usual recruitment from Hogwarts,” he said offhandedly, almost waving her off. “But women have very important jobs here, Minerva,” he said seriously. “It is a privilege to work in this office.” 

Minerva wanted to shout that it wasn’t fair, that she should’ve been up at least three levels now, that she could do anything the boys could do but better, but she didn’t and just snapped her jaw shut. 

“Of course, sir,” she replied. “Thank you for hearing me out.” 

Elphinstone just hummed and turned around, clearly ending their conversation. Minerva seethed all the way to lunch, where she sat with Eleanor McKinnon, another clerk in the same office as her who had graduated from Hogwarts a few years prior. 

“It’s like they just expect us to sit here and—and file papers!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. Eleanor just nodded, poking at her food.

“Welcome to the real work, honey,” she just said. “I’ve worked here three years and the biggest jump I’ve gotten is from clerk to secretary,” she remarked, tone bitter. Minerva sat back, crossing her arms. 

“What, what about those protest groups?” 

“What, _Witches for Wizengamot?”_

Minerva nodded. She’d remember reading something about them in the paper with Amelia. 

“I’ve been to a couple of meetings, but to be completely honest, I like to leave work at work, not leave and then go to more work,” Eleanor said. Minerva grinned. 

“Enough of this depressing talk, how’s Mark? I heard he was on some reconnaissance mission for Elphinstone,” she said, changing the subject, picking up onto Eleanor’s tone. 

“Dumbledore’s also got his hands in it somehow,” Eleanor remarked. “He wrote last week though and I think he’s expecting to be back soon.” 

“It sounds like you need a drink,” Minerva commented, raising an eyebrow. Eleanor leaned back in her chair. 

“Merlin, I do, now that you mention it. You want to grab a drink after work? Won’t be too long,” she offered and Minerva said yes and she came home to Amelia smelling of alcohol and just a little tipsy and a poster for the _Witches of Wizengamot_. 

“You’d think that you could even get drunk without bringing home some kind of homework project,” Amelia quipped, as Minerva brushed her teeth. “Who’d you go with?” 

“Eleanor McKinnon,” she replied, spitting out the toothpaste. “Mark McKinnon’s wife? The family that were recently declared blood traitors.” 

Amelia nodded in recognition. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Minerva’s waist, looking at their reflection in the mirror. 

“You know, you’re sleeping with a blood traitor,” she quipped, kissing Minerva’s neck. She laughed a little. 

“That tickles,” she remarked. “And you know that you’re sleeping with a half-blood, right?” 

“I very much do,” Amelia smirked. 

They tumbled into bed together, warm, and wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

The next morning, Minerva woke groggily to someone knocking very loudly on their door and she glanced at the clock and it was an ungodly seven in the morning and she just groaned and escaped from underneath Amelia’s arm, who was still snoring peacefully. Minerva plucked a Gryffindor sweater from the chair and wrapped it around her, the morning chill seeping into her bones as she checked just who the hell was knocking on their door on a Saturday morning. 

Her head kind of hurt on top of it all. 

She flung open the door to give whoever was there a piece of her mind until—

“Augusta!” 

“Min!” 

She immediately leapt into her friend’s arms, holding onto her tight. 

“What took you so damn long to drop by? And why in God’s name are you here so early?” 

Augusta just laughed. “Welcome me in first to this dingy place of yours,” she joked, because of course she just had to be dressed to the nines and Minerva eyed her fur coat with a bit of jealousy. 

“Amelia’s still asleep; do you want me to wake her?” 

Augusta just rolled her eyes. “No, I’ll do it. Which room?” 

Minerva just pointed at the door and Augusta’s heels clicked their way to a very unsuspecting Amelia and Minerva just started the coffee and some semblance of a breakfast. 

She rolled her eyes when she heard Amelia’s yelp from their bedroom and could just see Augusta dragging her up and out by the ear. Quite literally, in fact. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Amelia surrendered, holding her hands up. “Merlin’s Beard, Gussie, what the hell are you doing here on a Saturday morning?” 

Augusta just grinned as Minerva passed Amelia a cup of coffee. “To give you two idiots these, because you’re both going to be my maid of honour,” she said, handing two of them very fancy envelopes. “Wanted to give them to you in person because I haven’t seen you guys since, gosh, was it really Hogwarts?” Augusta rattled on and Minerva just crashed into her with a hug again. 

“Oh Gussie,” she teased. “We’d be honoured, right Amelia?” 

“Look at our Augusta, finally getting married!” Amelia crooned, joining them for a group hug. “You let Frank know that he’s not stealing you from us, though,” Amelia added, rather sternly. 

Augusta just laughed. “He already knows.” 

Minerva asked about the wedding preparations, of which Amelia mouthed to her “big mistake” and they listened to Augusta rant on about how much of a pain everything was and how some days she wanted to get eloped but this was the joining of the Fawley and the Longbottom lines and it was a huge thing and how everything was just so busy and the wedding rehearsal was in a forenight and she apologized for coming so early because it was the only free time in her schedule and Amelia made her promise to let her run her hen party because clearly, Augusta needed to get sloshed and Minerva just laughed. 

Augusta left with a wave and promised to pop in later next week and Minerva and Amelia looked at each other and both realised that they didn’t know what the hell they were going to wear. 

“Nothing works for me though,” Amelia quipped, wagging her eyebrows at Minerva. Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

“If there’s anything that’s going to make me break up with you, it’s that,” she pointed and Amelia just laughed, as bright as the day. 

They went back to work the following Monday, pushing away at the jobs they could get and Minerva attended a couple of _Witch for Wizengomant_ rallies and they were all very loud and sparsely populated and then she was swept up into Augusta’s wedding plans and she still didn’t have a clue for what to wear so when she went home for Christmas that year, she asked Mother because Mother had to know more about this than Minerva, right? 

Like always, Mother did know more. 

“You know, I’m surprised that you’d ever ask,” she said, riffling through her closet. “We might have to take a trip down to Diagon Alley, honestly, because some of these dresses are quite outdated,” Mother mused, pulling a couple of formal robes out of a box that was tucked away in the corner. 

“What about that one?” Minerva asked, pointing to a lovely emerald green frock. Mother hummed and picked it up. 

“This could work, though even I know how big of an event this is—you don’t see a pureblood line merge like this very often—but we might have to have some alterations done,” she speculated, lifting it up. It was detailed with very fine gold with long, sweeping sleeves, a somewhat swooping neckline, and a magnificent cape. “Go on, dear, try it on.” 

Minerva grinned and dashed into the bathroom, putting on the robes as carefully as possible. It fit like a glove. 

“Mother!” she called out, unable to recognise the person she saw in the mirror. Amelia was going to scream when she saw this. 

“Oh Minerva,” Mother replied, coming into the bathroom and that, as they say, was that. 

Augusta got married in the New Year, ringing in 1955 with a kiss and a ring and a wedding that was bigger than anything Minerva’d ever seen and Amelia snuck them into the bathroom right before the countdown started and they kissed as the fireworks started and Amelia was dressed in the loveliest dark red robes and Augusta joked that they looked a little like a Christmas tree together and Minerva just laughed as Amelia glared and threatened to add another stupid story into her maid of honour speech. 

Champagne was popped and Amelia was warm against Minerva and they rang in the New Year together, pressed up each other, holding onto another tight. 

As they watched the newlyweds share their first dance, Minerva wondered if things had gone just a little differently, would it have been her wedding that she was standing at right now? Would’ve it been Dougal’s hand she was holding and Dougal that she was dancing with and Dougal that she welcomed 1955 with? 

She wondered if she would’ve still been happy then. 

Amelia just discretely wrapped her arm around Minerva’s waist and they drank into the early hours of the morning and fell into bed very drunk, very warm, and if Minerva was to judge, quite happy as well. 

“I love you,” Amelia muttered against her pillow in the morning when Minerva greeted her with a plate and a cup of coffee. Minerva just laughed but her heart was beating in her ears and if she was the kind of woman to describe things with a flourish, like Augusta maybe would’ve, she would’ve said her heart grew three sizes. 

“I love you too,” Minerva said back, because it was the truth even if she’d said it to Dougal last summer. “Now get up, we both have to get going,” she chided, swatting at Amelia’s head who just groaned. 

“I’ll pick you up after work, remember?” Minerva said, putting on her cloak just as she headed out the door. Amelia nodded and kissed her right as she left. 

“What do you need to go in so early for anyways?” she asked, frowning. 

“Paperwork,” she replied, rolling her eyes, when in reality Minerva just liked to come in early and get her things finished because Elphinstone was usually pretty easy if you finished things before the deadline. 

Minerva hurried into the office—she was the earliest there, even before her boss—and ran through three briefs and had them on Elphinstone’s desk right as he walked in. 

“Been busy, haven’t you, Minerva?” 

“Yes, sir,” she replied. 

“You know,” he started, looking at her carefully. “I think we could do with your Animagus skills on our team,” he said slowly. Minerva’s head snapped up. 

“Really?” she said before she could control herself. Elphinstone nodded. 

“You’re much more elusive when you’re an animal,” he mused. “Come down for the meeting later today after lunch,” he instructed and Minerva walked back to her desk with the brightest smile on her face. 

If Minerva wasn’t so excited, the meeting would’ve been the most boring thing she’d ever attended but she was assigned to Knockturn Alley to track a couple of the store owners that were allegedly selling dark artifacts and she gushed about it to Eleanor for the entirety of lunch, who listened to her talk with wide eyes. 

“You think things are really starting to change?” she asked, looking at Minerva. She shrugged. 

“I don’t know. Elphinstone did say that I was only really picked because I’m an Animagus, more than anything else,” Minerva replied. She thought about what she said to Professor Dumbledore in his classroom those few years ago. “I think change will take a very long time,” she commented, resigned. 

Eleanor sighed. “Yeah.” 

Minerva dropped by Amelia’s office right when five hit and pulled her into a narrow corridor and kissed her hard. 

“Whoa, someone’s in a good mood,” she teased, glancing around them before kissing Minerva again.

“Someone got a bit of a promotion,” Minerva said proudly. “Come on, I’ll tell you all about at dinner,” she said, grabbing Amelia by the hand and then immediately Apperating once they left the Ministry. 

“Could get a bit of warning next time, Min,” Amelia grumbled as they stood in front of a pub named Witches Wizarding Winding. It was rather old and shabby with a towering chimney smackdab in the middle of London and looked like it was going to fall apart any minute but Minerva just tapped her wand on the door to the very left and a small slot slide open. 

“Password?” 

Amelia looked at Minerva with a confused stare. 

“Pongs,” Minerva replied crisply and the door opened for them, leading them into a bustling bar that was bright, loud, and as Amelia would come to realise, filled with witches and wizards that were just like them. 

“Min, are we—”

Minerva just nodded and sat them down at a booth. 

“How the hell did you find this place?” 

Minerva shrugged. “I have a lot of time at work,” she commented, not saying that she was actually supposed to research into these places to help shut them down, because Amelia didn’t need to know that. 

“Well, who would’ve thought, little miss ‘I’m not a dyke’ has really come a long, long way,” Amelia slyly said. Minerva blushed and just slapped her arm. 

“I was stupid and young and raised very much Catholic,” Minerva snapped back and Amelia just laughed. As they ordered and finished up their meals, Amelia ordered a couple of drinks and held her hand out for Minerva.

“Dance with me, McGonagall,” she ordered, dragging Minerva with her. They stood in their own little cornered, surrounded by men who were kissing and dancing with other men, women that were holding hands and singing, men that were in dresses and women in suits. Minerva couldn’t help but think if she was this happy, if these people were this happy, could this really be a sin of God? 

Minerva just rolled her eyes and they swayed easily to the music, Amelia’s hand on her waist and Minerva’s on her shoulders. 

After a couple more shots, they made their way home laughing into the night and fell asleep with quiet, whispered I love you’s into each other’s ears. 

Minerva hadn’t thought of Dougal in months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second last chapter of part 1! we're slowly getting there, trudging our way out of the 1950s. i hope you enjoyed and kudos and comments are an author's best friend :D


	10. Chapter 10

Things were slowly moving forward—Amelia got a promotion and Minerva started working more with _Witches for Wizengamot_ and pulled Amelia in for a couple of meetings as well and Augusta popped by every now and then to talk about married life and how things were going so well and Minerva was finally getting all the things she wanted when she was in Hogwarts and wondered if she should write Professor Dumbledore a letter both as a thank you but also to remain in touch. 

So, she really should’ve saw it coming when the ball started to roll downhill again. 

The first thing was that Minerva experienced her first proper duel, one that wasn’t just in training that Elphinstone had bumped her up to, one that wasn’t just for fun and for laughs with her friends, one that properly sent her heart racing faster than it’d ever felt and for the first time, there was nothing but fear running through her veins. 

“I’m surprised you’re even here,” the man snickered. Minerva recognized him from the books that she was supposed to study—Christopher Dubois, one of the gang that was responsible for a series of halfblood and muggleborn murders, she realised as he sneered at her. “I thought women weren’t on the team,” he mused, twirling his wand idly. Minerva could hear her heart in her ears. 

_“Stupefy!”_ she yelled, as calm as she could even though her wand hand was wavering. Dubois just laughed, the sound harsh and mean as he easily defected it. 

_“Confringo!”_

Minerva ducked and shot another hex back, wondering if Henry or Ross or David were coming any time soon because Dubois was getting faster and she was running out of options until she spun to avoid another one of his hexes and willed herself smaller and with a soft pop, she was in her Animagus form, her wand clutched between her teeth. Dubois whipped around, clearly wondering where she had gone and with a whoosh, Minerva snuck up behind him, transformed back, and with an efficient Stunning spell, had him passed out on the floor. 

She dusted her hands and tried not to think about how _close_ he was to her, close enough to touch and how he almost grabbed her and then she bound his hands with rope, turned on her heel, and Apparted back to the Ministry. 

Elphinstone immediately rushed to her side when she showed up, noticing the bruise and cut on her face that was starting to hurt and asked her how she was until his eyes widened and spotted Dubois beside her. 

“Minerva—” 

Minerva grinned as much as she could, which really wasn’t much because the cut was right by her mouth. “One down, four to go,” she quipped, as Aurors came by her and swept Dubois away. Elphinstone raised his wand to her face, healing the cut and bruise. 

“Good one, McGonagall,” he said with pride, patting her on the back. 

Minerva went home with a smile on her face and tried to forget how she was alone with Dubois and told Amelia all about it and the next day when she showed up at work, Elphinstone trusted her with the plans of capture for the rest of the team Dubois was part of and Minerva was the only witch in the room but at this point, she was used to it. 

Summer came upon them quicker than expected and they’ve almost lasted a whole year at the Ministry. Amelia took Minerva out for ice cream on the anniversary of the day they kissed before graduation and if it was just a twinge of guilt that Minerva felt in her chest at her thoughts of the summer before, well, it was just a twinge. 

It wasn’t until Amelia mentioned some more that Minerva tensed up. 

“I know, Min, since it’s not like, legal, it couldn’t happen, but do you ever think about it?” 

“Think about what?” Minerva asked, even though she knew exactly what Amelia was talking about. 

Amelia turned her head on the pillow to look at her. “About marriage.”

Minerva continued to stare at the ceiling. “Sometimes, I suppose.” 

She didn’t say that she almost got married once. 

“Yeah, me too,” Amelia whispered. 

“Never though I’d see the day _Amelia Bones_ was considering marriage, though,” Minerva teased. She thought about Dougal and his ring and about how she accepted his offer for a drink when she really should’ve have and how Amelia never knew. 

“Amelia, there’s something I should—” Minerva said after a while, before her nerve got the better of her. Might as well get it out in the open now, but Amelia was already fast asleep beside her, snoring softly. 

She’d tell her later. 

Minerva spent her days tracking down two annoyingly deceiving shopkeeps in Knockturn Alley that nearly slipped through her fingers and Elphinstone was a little too impressed that she turned up with two arrests and Amelia was also slowly making her way up the Ministry and they both went to their rallies and made pleas and wrote to officials and finally, _finally_ , there seemed that there was finally some things changing, even if Minerva’s pay was still shit and she was still the only woman in the room and don’t even get her started on the whole blood-status thing. 

“Minerva,” Amelia said one night, and Minerva shot up because Amelia almost never called her by her full name unless it was something serious. “I want so many things with you,” she whispered and it almost sounded like a confession. 

“I do too,” Minerva replied, and it was a confession. 

Amelia looked up at her. “There are so many things I wish I could have with you,” she continued, holding onto Minerva’s left hand. 

Minerva couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I almost got married the summer after we graduated,” she blurted out. 

Her heart was beating in her ears. Amelia sat up, pushing Minerva away. 

“What?” 

Minerva avoided her eyes. 

“Amelia,” she started. “You have to know that this was the greatest regret of my life.” 

Amelia stared at her, clearly shocked. 

“Are you saying that y-you _choose_ him?” 

Minerva closed her eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “Yes, I did,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what,” she gestured between the two of them, “this was at the time and you were in France and—”

“And just because I was in France you thought it was okay to shack up with some bloke!” 

Minerva’s eyes flashed open and Amelia was now standing up, away from their bed, away from them. Her eyes burned. 

“Amelia, it wasn’t anything serious—”

“Minerva, you were fucking _engaged!”_

Minerva looked at the floor. “It was a mistake,” she whispered. “It’s you I love. It’s always been you,” she pleaded. “He was a muggle and I broke it off a day later and—”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Amelia suddenly said, looking away from Minerva. Her voice sounded sick. Minerva felt sick. 

“Amelia—”

“Is that why you barely wrote back? Is that why I barely fucking heard from you that summer? Because you were trampizzing around with some guy?” 

Minerva blinked back tears but it didn’t work. 

“Amelia, please—”

“I don’t want it to hear it,” she said firmly, walking out of their room. Minerva stared at the ceiling, a hand on the side of the bed that Amelia left—it was still warm. 

She cried into her pillow. 

Amelia was gone before she even woke up in the morning. 

When Minerva got back from work, Amelia told her that she wanted her to leave and Minerva listened. 

“Amelia, I love you,” she whispered. Amelia didn’t look at her. 

She packed up her things and Amelia slammed the door behind her. 

Minerva stood in the street, staring at the sky and wondered just where the hell she could go. Finally, with a turn, she Apparated and showed up on Augusta’s doorstep and nearly fell into her arms sobbing when Augusta opened the door. 

“Merlin, Minerva, what happened?” she asked, hauling her in. Minerva looked at her tearfully. 

“Can-can I stay the night?” she asked desperately, feeling as if there was something empty in her chest. 

“Of course,” Augusta replied, showing her upstairs where Minerva immediately showered and cried more than she had her whole life. She sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel when Augusta came in. 

“So, are you going to tell me why you showed up crying on my doorstep?” 

Minerva just looked at her. 

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered. She thought she was tearing up again but she wasn’t sure. 

She thought about Amelia and how she was always cold at the beginning of the night but was as warm as a furnace in the morning. 

Augusta came and sat down beside her. “That’s okay,” she replied, grasping onto Minerva’s hand. “You know, you can stay as long as you’d like,” she added and Minerva just leaned onto her shoulder like they were children again, like they were back at Hogwarts and Amelia was still speaking to her and the world was at their fingertips. 

On her lunch break the next day, Minerva spotted an ad in the newspaper for a job at Hogwarts for an assistant Transfiguration teacher and at first she just skipped by it but then thought about how even though she was starting to do something in the department, there was still something she just hated about the Ministry and sometimes she caught Amelia in the hallways but Amelia just looked the other way and Minerva thought about how she could maybe do with a fresh start, a fresh slate, and wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore and sent it off by the end of the day. 

She ate dinner with Augusta and Frank and didn’t even notice their grand home, the kind that young Minerva would’ve salivated over, worked on some pamphlets for the women’s cause and convinced Augusta to join her—just because you’re not a working woman doesn’t mean you can’t pitch in, Gussie—and she just huffed but helped her out. 

She thought about Amelia and flying and Hogwarts and everything that was her childhood and wished for just a slice of it back. She fell asleep with legal notes in her lap and the lamp still on. 

_Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_It was truly a pleasure to hear from you and even more so when I found that you are interested in the assistant Transfiguration Professor position. I am very pleased to say that we are extending you the offer and to please come in tomorrow for a follow-up interview. This is purely a formality as Hogwarts is very happy to welcome you back into our fold._

_I hope you are well, as I’ve read up a little on how you’ve done in the Ministry. However, I hope that you will be soon joining us once again at Hogwarts, Miss McGonagall. It will be a pleasure to have you. Please reply to this letter with a preferred time for your interview._

_All the best,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Minerva showed up at the gates of Hogwarts at promptly noon, using her lunch break at the Ministry for the interview. She nearly gasped when she saw the castle again—it was like the first time she saw it, back on that little boat crossing the Black Lake. 

Professor Dumbledore greeted her at the gate, smiling bright. 

“Thank you for this, Professor,” Minerva said politely. “You haven’t changed a day,” she quipped, laughing a little. Professor Dumbledore just smiled. 

“I can’t say the same of you, Miss McGonagall,” he replied, leading them up the path to the castle. “I’ve heard very good things from the Ministry.” 

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask how,” she said, smiling. 

“I wasn’t going to divulge that information anyways,” Professor Dumbledore said, holding the door open for her. “Though, I will say I was quite surprised to receive your letter, Miss McGonagall.” 

Minerva tilted her head. 

“You have a promising career at the Ministry ahead of you,” he said, walking them down to the Great Hall. It was so strange to see Hogwarts devoid of its students. Foreign, almost.

“I decided it was time for a change in my life,” Minerva simply replied. Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her further. 

“As I mentioned in my letter, this interview is for formality only. Headmaster Dippet likes to keep things neat and tidy and well, I suppose this is my doing that for him,” Professor Dumbledore said, leading them up to the staff table. “From your being here, I assume you accept?”

Minerva nodded and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, beaming. 

Professor Dumbledore tilted his head and led them down a series of corridors. “Allow me to show you your rooms as term will be beginning soon. These are for optional use, of course, as many of our staff have their own separate residences,” he explained, showing them through a small office. “This will be your office here and here,” he indicated, pointing to a portrait with a sleeping painter in it, “are your rooms.” 

The place looked almost exactly like the Gryffindor dormitory, with its red walls and large windows and four-poster bed with the addition of bookshelves upon bookshelves just waiting to be filled and Minerva nearly gasped. Something settled in the gap in her chest, something that Minerva couldn’t quite describe. It was a little like when Amelia first kissed her, a little like when she first rode a broom. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of doing the furnishing myself, so if you need to change anything, please just let me or your house-elf know,” Professor Dumbledore explained, smiling a little. 

“Thank-thank you, sir,” Minerva said, gathering her wits. 

“That’s Albus to you now, dear, as we will be colleagues,” he pointed out and Minerva nearly blanched at the suggestion. “You’ll start off with teaching the younger years, mainly the first and second years and then we’ll work our ways upwards. We’ll review the specifics of your position later on, does that sound okay?” 

Minerva couldn’t find the words so she just nodded, still dumbfounded. 

“And Minerva?” 

“Yes?” 

“Welcome back to Hogwarts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are at the end of part one! i'm currently making my way through part two and i think i can keep up the same updating schedule as it is now (every other day) with part two as well. however, if that changes, i'll let you guys know. thanks to everyone that has commented and kudoed on this—it means the world to me for your support. and if you're just joining us, welcome! there will be three parts and the way that part two is looking, it looks like this story might just end up 100k+. my clownery is endless. 
> 
> let me know what you thought! feel free to yell at me in the comments ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for mentions of homophobia and internalized homophobia.

**PART II - ROLANDA**

“So we stood hand-in-hand, like two school children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.”  —Arthur Conan Doyle,  _ The Sign of Four _

* * *

Professor Dumbledore—she really couldn’t call him Albus just yet—introduced her to the staff as they trickled in from summer break (with a very surprised and ecstatic greeting from Professor Slughorn who, like some others, questioned why she’d left a lucrative career at the Ministry behind) and then Headmaster Dippet welcomed her to the students at the Welcoming Feast. 

Minerva scanned the Gryffindor table for her brothers and just as expected—she hadn’t told her family of her change in address nor change in employment—they both had their jaws on the ground and afterwards, Minerva came by and gave them both embarrassingly big hugs and told them both to behave because she was a professor now, or at least assistant professor, and Robert just stuck his tongue out at her and Malcolm hugged the life out of her. 

If Minerva poured everything she had at the Ministry, it was nothing compared to Hogwarts. Tack on the fact that she was mainly here because the Ministry simply wasn’t it anymore and only really here because Amelia kicked her out, she focused most—no all—of her time into preparing lesson plans with Professor Dumbledore, going over the curriculum, and playing the occasional game of chess like they had when Minerva was still a student. 

For the first term, Minerva sat in the back of every class, diligently watching Professor Dumbledore teach, picking up on all the things she’d missed as a student because her nose was always in a textbook, such as just how quick Professor Dumbledore was, how fast he responded to the usual fire or explosion and Minerva, ever the student, took notes and when Professor Dumbledore noticed, he just laughed and told her that eventually, she would need to drop the theory because teaching was one of the most unpredictable things in the world. 

Minerva just gave him a stern look and told him to stop trying to scare her. 

“I didn’t know that you could be scared, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore responded, looking up from his marking that Minerva was helping out with. 

“Just because we’re both Gryffindors doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” she said succinctly, catching yet another grammar mistake in the essay before her—remind her why Hogwarts didn’t teach English again? 

“Very true,” he said, placing another essay into the “done” pile. “But I am speaking to the woman that almost jumped out of bed after falling from her broomstick to duel Slytherin beaters,” he pointed out and Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

“I did really want that Cup,” she admitted, correcting the student’s explanation on Gamp’s Laws. 

“As much as I like seeing that trophy in my office, I will admit that seeing my students play that ridiculous sport has given me a few heart attack scares too many,” Professor Dumbledore joked. Minerva stared at him, mouth agape. 

“You did not just call Quidditch ridiculous!” 

Professor Dumbledore just laughed and they finished up their marking with a game of chess before the evening and Minerva went back to her rooms, tempted to check up on Robert and Malcolm before until she realised that they’d probably write Mother again—she already got an earful for not telling Mother and Papa about her new job directly—and decided against it. 

Her room was strangely silent and very dark when she came back and Minerva sent a letter off to Augusta before she went to bed and fell asleep with her window open, sweeping in the fall breeze. 

She taught her first, proper lesson the next day and Minerva showed up with her hair in a bun just like how Mother often wore it, formal black robes, and the sternest look on her face that she could muster because the sixth and seventh years still thought she was a student sometimes—she honestly couldn’t really blame them—and led the first years through the clearest, most succinct, and careful lesson they probably would ever receive—Minerva, I thought you were going to dock points from me, Professor Dumbledore commented afterwards but told her that Transfiguration wasn’t always supposed to be fun and that she modelled things perfectly. 

Minerva blushed and focused on the next period’s lesson and went through the paperwork that Professor Dumbledore was neglecting—sir, you really need to finish up on this and honestly, I think you hired me just to do all the filing, she joked before Professor Dumbledore looked at her seriously and told her that he was expecting much more than that of her. 

“Well, forgive me if I thought a little differently,” Minerva began, “the Ministry didn’t really quite see things that way.” 

Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh?” 

Minerva just rolled her eyes. “The only reason I was promoted was because I was an Animagus, since women are only clerks and secretaries,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice but didn’t quite succeed. “Or at least in my department. Amelia’s been promoted.” 

“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore said. “I see things haven’t changed much since I was there,” he commented, “even if we do have our first woman as Minister of Magic.” 

“You were at the Ministry?” 

Professor Dumbledore just hummed. “Not quite officially, which is why you wouldn’t find anything in the papers about it,” he explained, his tone sounding rather final. Minerva nodded and didn’t question him further. 

They finished up their day, headed down to the Great Hall for dinner, and Minerva joined him afterwards for a small drink and a game of chess, of which she did beat him again at. 

Her life at Hogwarts eventually fell into a routine, steady, reliable, and most of all, Minerva found that Mother really was right—Hogwarts was always there for her. She spent her days shadowing and teaching with Professor Dumbledore, eventually taking on the first year classes completely after Christmas break, where Mother questioned her incessantly about why she’d left the Ministry and why she wasn’t living with Amelia anymore and how Augusta’s wedding went until Papa told her to annoy Robert and Malcolm and Mother just rolled her eyes with a huff and stalked off and Papa just gave her a kiss on her forehead and told her that he just wanted her to be happy above anything else and Minerva was glad to say that she didn’t have to lie too much to him. 

She spared Amelia one evening of moping, where she sat on her back porch with a beer in her hand, staring at the stars in the cold. 

“I still love you,” she whispered into the air. 

From Augusta’s letters, Minerva knew that Amelia was still at the Ministry and Augusta didn’t question her about anything that happened between them but Minerva suspected that Augusta knew because Augusta wasn’t an idiot. 

Thought about how her life would’ve been if she married Dougal—would she be spending her Christmas at the farm just a little down town, with Dougal’s father invited to the manse, where Papa would smile brightly at them and Mother would tease her about future grandchildren? 

“Minerva, what on Earth are you doing?” Mother asked, stepping out onto the porch with her, wrapping her shawl tighter around her. “You do realise it’s December, dear.” The snow was falling lightly. 

Minerva just nodded. Mother tutted at the bottle in her hand but didn’t say anything, lowering herself onto the steps with Minerva, who leaned her head onto her shoulder. 

“Do—do you think I made a mistake?” Minerva asked quietly. Mother frowned. 

“Whatever do you mean, child?” 

Minerva toyed around with telling her mother. Well. She could know half the story, she supposed. 

“The summer after I graduated,” Minerva began, her voice steady, “I fell in love,” she said, feeling foolish for sounding like a lovesick teenager. “He proposed.” 

Mother just raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. 

“I accepted, but,” her voice faltered a little. “He was a muggle.” 

“Oh Minerva,” Mother said, pulling her close and holding onto her tight. Minerva felt her eyes burn up. 

“I broke off the engagement a day after,” she continued, staring out into the dark. Her hands were starting to freeze. 

“Oh Minerva,” Mother repeated and just rocked her back and forth as she started to cry softly. 

_ You have to understand, Amelia. It was my biggest regret.  _

Minerva wiped her cheeks. “I’m just being stupid,” she muttered, curling into her mother’s embrace. 

“No, you’re not, dear,” Mother replied. “You’re not being stupid at all.” 

After a while, Mother spoke again. “You know, you’ve always been your father’s daughter, but tonight, you’ve really shown to be mine.” 

Minerva just looked at her but didn’t say anything. 

They just sat together, on the stairs of their back porch, looking out into the night until Minerva held out her wand and whispered a warming charm and Mother told her it was time to go inside and sent Minerva straight to bed with a warm cup of tea and Minerva thought about how just a year ago, she was at Augusta’s wedding kissing Amelia in the bathroom, how she could just blink and her whole life would change before her eyes. 

Minerva sent her brothers off on the Hogwarts Express and then Apparted to Hogsmeade with lesson plans for the rest of the term and all her ideas for upcoming years and everything she wanted to do in her classes and how she wanted to really, properly drill the subject that she loved the most into her students’ heads for both practical and nonsensical reasons. 

“I’m surprised you needed another teacher,” Minerva commented one day, when they were sitting in her office, handing Professor Dumbledore all of the third years’ essays. 

“To be completely honest, I’m doing a bit of extra research on the side and needed some more help with the classes,” he replied, looking through the copious amount of papers littering his desk. 

“You know, if you just cleaned some things up, I’m sure you wouldn’t need to rummage through everything like the trash,” Minerva quipped. Professor Dumbledore just chuckled. 

“You are right there, Minerva, though that would require a considerable amount of work in itself,” he replied, snatching up a small newspaper scrap from the side of his desk.

“Are you completing additional Transfiguration research?” Minerva asked, curious.

“Something of the sorts,” Professor Dumbledore replied. Minerva just rolled her eyes at the very Albus Dumbledore reply and summoned the chess board out from his shelves. 

“Well, if you’re going to be vague, you might as well do so when you’re losing,” Minerva joked, spinning the board around for him to play white as usual. Professor Dumbledore just smiled and played his usual opening move. 

Minerva went to bed thinking about Amelia, then her lesson plans, and then if she had replied to Augusta’s letter—yes, yes she had—and how Robert’s graduation was coming up and she woke up early the next morning for a quick flying session before breakfast and soared through the skies and avoided the Astronomy Tower. 

Robert’s graduation came with loud parties and more alcohol than Minerva approved of but she remembered her graduation well so she really wasn’t in the position to say anything and just teased him about how he was finally growing up and Malcolm was going to be the only baby of the family now and Mother and Papa laughed and he had plans to take a quick gap year—something Minerva should’ve thought about honestly—and had a job lined up with specialities store in Potions ingredients in Diagon Alley afterwards. 

Minerva hugged him hard and told him that she was so proud of her and he hugged her back before telling her that was uncool to hug a professor and Minerva just laughed and told him that it didn’t stop Malcolm—Minerva, Malcolm is very much not cool and Minerva just took five points from Gryffindor for the comment. 

Minerva spent the summer at Hogwarts because she really wasn’t sure where else she could go and her days were filled with flying, going to the bookstore to properly stock up her shelves because they were still embarrassingly bare, played chess in the evenings with Professor Dumbledore because they were the only two of the staff still left in the castle during the summer and Minerva thought about returning to the Witches Wizarding Winding because the castle was so big and it was really just Minerva and she didn’t even know if it was still open, nevermind the password so she just barrelled into Augusta’s home when they had the time because Minerva wasn’t amazing at making friends and the only other professor left was Professor Dumbledore and worked on next year’s lessons plans because Professor Dumbledore had given her part of the second year’s as well and before she knew it, September 1st rolled around again and Minerva was back in the classroom—this time mainly without Professor Dumbledore—and smiled when Malcolm bounded through the halls with Pomona Sprout and watched as the students started to grow and wondered if she’d ever looked that young. 

One morning at breakfast, two owls landed in front of Minerva—one clearly from Mother and the other from Augusta—and Minerva casually opened both of them, skimming the letters because she had a class soon until she caught something that almost caused her to drop her glass.

_ —and your father just officiated another wedding this past weekend, that farmer boy that you and Robert used to go to school with, I believe, Dougal McGregor, he was married to the lovely Emilia Clarmicheal— _

_ —oh and Min! Amelia mentioned that she’s now living with Emmeline Vance, I’m not sure if you remember, but she was just a year above us at Hogwarts— _

Minerva ignored Professor Dumbledore’s strange stare and hurried to her first class before he could say anything. She tucked both letters into her desk and didn’t think about either of them for the rest of the day, throwing herself into lecturing about how Transfiguration was incredibly precise, Gamp’s Laws, and under no circumstances should anyone here attempt an Animagus transformation or attempt unsupervised as she transformed into a cat right before her students’ eyes. 

When the day finally finished, Minerva almost collapsed into her chair, eyeing her drawer. 

She did remember Emmeline Vance and wondered how the hell Amelia moved on so quickly. 

I still love you, she had whispered a year ago. It was still true and Minerva thought about that summer with Dougal, about how nice the whole thing felt, about how she didn’t know what the hell Amelia was playing at and how she’d fucked the whole thing up and if there was anything in her life that she’d want to take back, it would be the summer of ‘54. 

It wasn’t until her classroom door creaked open that Minerva realised that she must’ve looked like a wreck, sitting on the ground, leaning against her desk crying like some lovesick teenager. She’d dearly hoped that it wasn’t a student. 

Professor Dumbledore stepped in, with bright yellow robes that clashed terribly with that green sash that he wore and Minerva cursed her luck. 

“Minerva, I was just—”

Minerva tried to smile but didn’t bother hiding her tears. God, she must’ve looked a mess. 

“Hey Professor,” she said, giving him a small wave. 

“Merlin, Minerva, what happened?” he asked, sweeping over and sitting down beside her. He waved a hand and the door closed shut. Minerva just looked up at the ceiling.

“I—”

Professor Dumbledore looked at her with his piercing gaze and Minerva just sniffed again. 

“If I tell you, I’m afraid you’ll think me a coward,” Minerva whispered, avoiding his eyes. Professor Dumbledore quirked a brow. 

“I think out of all the words to describe you Minerva, that could never be one,” he said gently. “But if you’re not comfortable, we can just talk about how I found another Chocolate Frog card with me on it.” 

Minerva laughed. 

“It does do me good to hear that, my dear,” Professor Dumbledore said. “You’ve been a tad different since you’ve come back,” he commented idly, breaking off a piece of chocolate from the frog and offering it to her. 

“Thanks,” Minerva said, taking the sweet. “Is it that obvious?” 

“No, not really. But not everyone has taught you for seven years and then walked you through a dangerous magical transformation,” Professor Dumbledore quipped.

“I suppose,” Minerva started. “I’m even really sure where to begin.” 

Professor Dumbledore just chewed on his chocolate. 

“Does this have anything to do with Miss Amelia Bones?” 

Minerva’s head whipped around so fast that she swore her neck snapped. Professor Dumbledore just chuckled. 

“How’d you know?” 

He looked at her over his spectacles. “A calculated guess,” he replied, calm. Minerva twisted her hands and shoved the treat into her mouth. 

“If it helps, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore started slowly. “I like men.”

Minerva’s eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. 

“Pardon?” 

Professor Dumbledore just looked at her knowingly and nodded. Minerva sat back and really thought about it. 

“I’m—I’m actually not that surprised,” she said. Professor Dumbledore chuckled and patted her leg. 

“I would appreciate it if you kept this between us,” he continued. “Due to rather obvious reasons.” 

Minerva nodded solemnly. “Of course, sir. Though, I don’t think you’d be worried about muggle laws would you?” 

Professor Dumbledore looked at her rather sadly. “No, of course not. But I don’t suppose I’d be a professor here if I was indicted in court for homosexuality, would I?” 

Minerva looked at the floor. “No. No, you wouldn’t.” 

_ I wouldn’t either  _ was left unsaid but Minerva heard it in the air loud and clear anyways. 

“The world can be rather close-minded most of the time,” he idly said. 

“Yeah,” Minerva agreed. “I was rather close-minded for some time,” she continued. “Amelia kissed me in our sixth year and I completely pushed her away.” She had never told anyone. It felt nice to tell someone. 

Professor Dumbledore just nodded solemnly. 

“I guess I just couldn’t see myself as, as lesbian,” Minerva confessed, the word still uncomfortable in her mouth. “When I finally came to my senses, we just didn’t talk about it. And then, and then—” 

Minerva clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to continue. Professor Dumbledore patted her leg again. 

“Take your time,” he said patiently. Minerva took a deep breath.

“Then, this sweet muggle boy asked me if I wanted a drink and then the next thing I knew he was down on one knee and I said yes, like a goddamn idiot, because I didn’t know what Amelia and I had yet and I don’t know  _ anything  _ about this and I’m not even supposed to  _ like  _ witches—” 

Minerva paused, taking another deep breath. Professor Dumbledore looked at her intently, listening carefully. “It’s perfectly normal to like witches,” he said calmly, but Minerva plowed on. 

“But he was muggle and there’s the Statue of Secrecy and I just couldn’t and there was Amelia—”

“And then she eventually found out?” Professor Dumbledore finished for her and Minerva just nodded miserably. 

“It was the biggest mistake of my life,” she whispered. “It  _ is _ the biggest mistake of my life.” 

Professor Dumbledore didn’t say anything, just kept his hand on her knee. “I left the Ministry in part of that and in part because she kicked me out of our flat and I’m not really here at Hogwarts because I wanted the job,” Minerva rambled, “I just needed somewhere to go, to hide,” she confessed, burying her face into her arms. “Oh, you must think so little of me.” 

“On the contrary, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said, “you’ve just proven to me that you are, in fact, human.” Minerva lifted her head, frowning. “I’d hate to hit you with the cliche, my dear, but we all make our mistakes.” 

“Just this one was so big,” Minerva said. Professor Dumbledore looked at her seriously. 

“I know,” he replied. They sat there for a while, side by side, listening to the rumbles of the castle, of the laughter of students filtering in through the windows. 

“You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said quietly. “You’re not the only one to have made such a large mistake.” 

Minerva’s eyes widened. “Surely, sir, you—” 

Professor Dumbledore just held up a finger. “Allow me to tell a small story,” he said and he looked at Minerva with a face filled with such pain that she sucked in a breath. “I had a younger sister, Ariana.” 

“Had?” 

He nodded. “When I was young, not even Hogwarts age, we lived in a small muggle and magical town. You see, Ariana loved magic. She would laugh and smile whenever our mother or father turned the tablecloth green or when I made flowers grow from nothing—I will say that I was quite proficient with my magic even then—and she, along with my brother, were both natural talents with magic,” he said, his voice incredibly calm, looking right at Minerva but she could that he wasn’t really looking at her. His eyes looked hauntingly sad. 

It scared her, seeing her professor,  _ the _ Albus Dumbledore so… vulnerable. The twinkle had gone out of his eye for the first time Minerva’d ever seen and it was one of the most unsettling things she’d experienced. 

“One day, she was out in our garden, playing with the flowers and,” he faltered a little here, “some muggle boys saw her and demanded that she repeat her tricks. She was so young, Minerva, just a little older than four,” he explained. “And naturally, she had no idea what they were asking her and eventually, they started to hurt her.” 

Minerva sat there, horrified. “What about your parents?” 

Professor Dumbledore continued. “My mother rushed just a second too late—at that point, the damage had been done onto her magical psyche and Ariana was never the same. As for my father, he lost his temper and tortured the three muggle boys with magic. He was eventually sent to Azkaban,” he said, remaining unfailingly calm. Minerva shuddered. “My mother eventually moved us and spent the rest of her life caring for Ariana and her magical outbursts.” 

Minerva leaned into his side, grabbing his hand for comfort.

“She died when I had just graduated Hogwarts and there was no one else left to care for Ariana—my brother, Aberforth, was younger and the responsibility of my sister had fallen onto me,” he explained, his tone calm as ever. He could’ve been talking about the weather. “I was so resentful, so upset that I was now tethered to my family. I had so many plans—I was so arrogant then, having won many awards right out of graduation. I thought I was better than it all and that summer in Godric’s Hallow”—Minerva assumed that this was where the Dumbledore family had lived—“was, in many ways like yours, the greatest regret I’ve ever had.” 

Minerva sat up, looking at him intently. 

“How so?” 

“While you had fallen for young Dougal, I had been charmed by a young Gellert Grindleward.” 

Minerva stared at him. 

“Like the one you duelled? The one that had waged war all across Europe?” 

“Exactly the one.” 

Minerva sucked in a breath. Professor Dumbledore waited a second before continuing. 

“Before I knew it, we were talking about a world where wizards could live free—a place where experiences that my sister had gone through would never have to face again—and we had worked on this project the entire summer, where I would escape to his house to practice and brew and create,” he said. His eyes seemed to light up a little and Minerva almost recoiled. But when he spoke again, he sounded unspeakably sad. “Some of the worst things I have ever done were that summer,” he confessed. 

Minerva squeezed his hand. 

“Grindelward took my theories and ideas and twisted them darker.” 

“Like with eradicating muggles?” Minerva asked, quiet. 

“Yes,” Professor Dumbledore replied and Minerva felt her stomach plummet. “I have spent my entire career trying to amend what I had said, believed, that summer.”

Minerva didn’t say anything—she was still reeling from the fact that her teacher, her mentor, had once spewed the anti-muggle sentiment that she had hated for her entire life, the sentiment that hurt the people she loved, from her father to Dougal to the town she had grown up in. 

“Later that summer, Gellert was at my house when Ariana came out of her room and she started to convulse, to have another one of her magical outbursts. Aberforth and I tried to contain it, to control it like we tried every other time, but,” he faltered, voice wavering. “But it was the three of us that raised our wands and as the smoke cleared, Ariana was dead.” 

“Oh Albus,” Minerva whispered, her eyes tearing up. He gave her a grim smile. 

“We don’t know who cast the spell that killed her,” he whispered. “It very might as well have been mine.” 

His haunted gaze scared Minerva. 

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” Minerva said firmly. “You didn’t know what to do.” 

Professor Dumbledore just gave her a sad smile. “I might as well have killed her, Minerva, being with Gellert all the time, with our cause.” 

“You didn’t, Albus,” Minerva repeated. “You loved her with everything you had. That is worth more than anything else that could’ve happened.” 

Minerva paused before she continued. “Did you love him?” 

He didn’t look at her. “Yes, yes, I did.” 

“That isn’t wrong,” Minerva said softly. “Love isn’t ever wrong.” 

Professor Dumbledore just squeezed her hand. “I won’t be offended if you think very differently of me,” he said. “What I have done in the past was irreprehensible.” He paused. “I could say the very same to you,” he whispered, looking at Minerva. “Your love for Amelia wasn’t wrong, Minerva. It could never be wrong.” 

Minerva nodded. “Like you told me earlier, we all make mistakes, Albus,” she said, looking at him with bright eyes. “You have done so much good for this world,” she whispered. “You can’t change what you’ve done in the past, but you’ve more than made up for it.” 

“I don’t know if I quite believe you, my dear, but I do find it reassuring to know that it just took our confessing of some of our greatest secrets for you to call me by my first name,” he teased. Minerva grinned. He slowly stood up, stretching and holding out a hand for Minerva. 

“Come on, let’s get off the ground and I think both of us deserve a drink,” he said and Minerva was glad to see that the twinkle had returned to his eye. Minerva grabbed his hand and they walked silently back to his office, where they played a game of chess as the sun set and Minerva headed back to her rooms just a little drunk and very warm and the next morning, when Albus greeted her, there was just a small change, a little difference—trust. 

Minerva just smiled and told him to pass the pumpkin juice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some history notes: the conversation between minerva and albus happened in 1957, ten years before the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 was passed by the british parliament, which decriminalized homosexuality in the uk, but raised the age of consent to 21 rather than the 16 for heterosexual couples and public affection between gay men remained illegal. throughout the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, the police raided gay bars to arrest on charges of "gross indecency". 
> 
> with that, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! the conversation between minerva and albus was on that i mulled on and really wanted to get right so hopefully it works. let me know what you thought and we're well on our way with part two! :D


	12. Chapter 12

The next time Minerva received an owl and nearly dropped her cup, Albus looked at her with concern but before he could ask her what was wrong, she placed a hand on his arm and gave him a beaming smile. 

“Augusta’s pregnant!” 

Albus gave her a warm smile. “What wonderful news,” he replied, squeezing her arm. “How far along?” 

“Just around four months,” Minerva said, her cheeks starting to hurt. “Oh Merlin, can you believe that some of my friends are starting to be parents?” 

Albus just laughed and took a sip of his tea. “I remember the feeling,” he remarked. “Please, send her my congratulations.” 

“Will do,” Minerva replied, already hurrying out of her seat for her office to pen a response—maybe she would drop by this weekend, to properly congratulate the Longbottoms. Albus just gave her a wave and went back to his copy of the _ Daily Prophet.  _

Frank Longbottom Jr. was born on a sweltering hot day right in the middle of July and Minerva never thought Augusta was possible of such language until she was waiting in the hallway of St. Mungo’s and if Minerva was right, she was pretty sure that every single profanity that was possible echoed throughout the halls. 

“Hey Minerva,” a voice said from her right and she immediately sat up straight, her hand just hovering over her wand pocket. 

“Hi Amelia,” Minerva replied, forcing the words to come out of her mouth. Her hair was shorter, Minerva noticed. Before, it was a long mass of brown, splattered over their pillow whenever they slept because she refused to put it into a plait like Minerva had—Min, sleeping is for relaxing and Minerva just rolled her eyes. “It’s good to see you,” she added, because it was true. 

Amelia stood taller, looked brighter, and if Augusta’s letters were to be believed, was soaring through the Ministry at the speed of light. Minerva couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. 

“You too,” Amelia replied and she stood awkwardly, waiting around like Minerva was. “Gosh, giving birth sounds awful.” 

Minerva laughed a little. “Really does,” she replied, resisting the urge to fiddle with her hands. Mother’s voice echoed in her mind and she pulled herself up more. After a couple of painfully awkward moments—Minerva couldn’t help but wonder how they’d gotten here, until she remembered a heavy ring, a sweet boy, and the biggest mistake of her life—and a Healer opened the door and told them that Augusta wanted to see them and Minerva hurried in first, before Amelia could even move. 

Augusta was lying in bed, all red and sweaty-faced, the most exhausted Minerva’d ever seen her, but she was holding a small bundle in her arms and Frank was sitting in the chair beside her and Minerva rushed over to the other side and grabbed her hand. 

“God, Gussie, I’m so proud of you,” Minerva said, gripping her hand hard. Augusta laughed and Minerva got a good look at her child—God, Augusta was a mother. 

“This is Frank,” she introduced, holding up the swaddle to reveal a very pink, very squished, very unhappy, very small face. 

“Junior,” Frank chimed in and everyone in the room laughed. 

Minerva looked at Frank Jr. in awe. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered. 

Augusta rolled her eyes. “He better be since he took nearly ten goddamn hours to get here,” she quipped, pulling him close again when he started to fuss a little. “You two best also get your shit together because you’re both his godmothers,” Augusta added, pointing her finger at Amelia and Minerva. 

Minerva blanched a little and Amelia just dropped her jaw. 

“Godmother?” Amelia asked, sounding rather flabbergasted. 

“Are-are you sure?” 

Frank shrugged. “She calls all the shots here,” he teased. “But yes, we both talked about it for a while. I don’t think there would be two better choices than you and Amelia.” 

Minerva beamed so hard that she thought her face would burst. She glanced over at Amelia and she was smiling brighter than Minerva’d ever seen her and she tried not to feel just a little bad that Amelia never smiled like that when they were together. 

They stayed a bit longer until it became clear that Augusta was going to fall asleep any second and Minerva told Amelia that she was glad to see her again and Amelia told her the same and they parted ways and Minerva thought about how yes, she did still love Amelia—she didn’t think that she’d ever stop loving Amelia, but because she was her first love and firsts, well, they were hard to forget. 

Minerva Apparted back to the gates of Hogwarts and rushed up to Albus’ office and told him her good news and he told her how happy he was for her and hugged her and invited her for a game of chess—one that she lost, but that was because I was distracted, Albus!—and Minerva was happy for the first time in a while and she didn’t think about Amelia when she fell asleep that night, just about little Frank and how she was going to show him how to properly ride a broomstick because his mother didn’t have that skill and she woke up the next morning with a bright smile on her face and went through her classes with the most joy since, well, since Amelia. 

As Frank grew—from infant to small toddler who was chasing around the family dog to a precocious child that questioned Minerva about everything from where babies came from to how magic was created to why the dog barked—Minerva settled into Hogwarts with a comfort that she hadn’t felt in a long time, even if sometimes she felt lonelier than she ever had, in this large castle with hundreds of students yet the quietest her rooms had ever been. 

Then Rolanda Hooch showed up on the scene and blew everything apart. 

Minerva had to admit, she really wasn’t the best with any sort of gay wizarding culture—she knew that there were bars and that was really about it—because Amelia was the person in that department and it seemed a little strange to ask Albus about it and Minerva really didn’t have a lot of time on her hands beyond her marking, marking, and more marking. But when Rolanda Hooch from Puddlemere United was hired to replace Madam Faunt who was retiring that fateful year of 1959, there was no way that this woman, with her short pixie cut and penchant for tank tops with a piecing in her ear that was definitely something that Mother would’ve burnt Minerva alive for, was straight. (And Minerva had to resist the urge to ask her for her signature.)

Madam Hooch greeted her with a grin, sweep of her hair, a firm handshake, and told Minerva to call her Rolanda. Minerva welcomed her back, told her to call her Minerva—under no circumstances was it to be Min, unless you want me to hex you into oblivion, she quipped—and challenged her to a one-on-one Quidditch game with a gleam in her eye and Rolanda just told her that she must’ve been expecting to lose and Albus watched them with a cheerful look that Minerva was going to deck him for later. 

“So, Rolanda Hooch,” he started as he played his rook and Minerva took it with her knight. 

“She’s a perfectly component flying instructor,” Minerva replied calmly, taking another sip of her tea. 

Albus just hummed. 

“You don’t see me matchmaking you across the staff,” Minerva quipped, looking at him sternly. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and Minerva just laughed. 

“I’m afraid that there really isn’t anyone you  _ could _ matchmake me with,” he replied, almost sounding disappointed. 

“There’s always Horace,” Minerva said, grinning. Albus pretended to look affronted. “And that’s checkmate,” Minerva commented, moving her bishop. Albus just glared at her. 

“Just be careful, Minerva,” he added quietly at the end of their match when he had fallen his king to her castle. 

“When am I not?” 

Minerva soared through the skies with Rolanda quick behind her and she thought about how this was almost as close as it was with Amelia but then told herself that Rolanda wasn’t Amelia, couldn’t be Amelia, wasn’t even right to compare to Amelia but she couldn’t help it and shook her hand politely when she beat her by just ten points and Minerva asked her if she wanted some company because they were the two youngest, newest hires on the staff and if there was anything that Minerva could understand, it was that. 

“Sure, McGonagall,” Rolanda replied, putting their brooms away into the cabinet and locking them shut with magic. Minerva cast a few other spells and Rolanda looked at her quizzically. 

“You wouldn’t know how many students try to sneak out flying,” Minerva commented and Rolanda just grinned. 

“I take it that you were one of them?” 

Minerva placed a hand on her chest and pretended to look scandalized. “Whatever do you mean?” 

Rolanda just laughed, rolled her eyes, and asked her if she wanted a drink in Hogsmeade and Minerva suggested her office because that was getting just a little too close to Amelia for her comfort and Rolanda smiled and told her that she better have something good. 

“I’m Scottish, Rolanda. You think that I wouldn’t have good booze?” 

“Point taken,” Rolanda replied, flopping down into one of her armchairs. “So, you’ve been here a couple of years, I take it? Were you a Hatstall? I think I might remember you.” 

Minerva nodded. “It was one of the most nerve-racking six or seven minutes of my life,” she joked, taking out her bottle of Firewhiskey that she usually shared with Albus and two glasses with a thud. 

“They’re pretty rare, I think I was in my sixth year with yours,” Rolanda commented, taking her glass with a nod. 

“Tell me, how was it flying with Puddlemere United?” 

Rolanda grinned. “It was the best career a gal could ask for,” she replied, looking proud. Minerva looked at her, a little wistful. “You’re surprisingly good. You must’ve played on the Gryffindor team,” she commented. 

“I did, Chaser in my day,” Minerva replied, taking a sip of her drink. “Captain too, in seventh year.” 

“Too bad our teams never played,” Rolanda said, her eyes glinting. Minerva gave her a grin. “Why didn’t you go professional?” 

Minerva winced a little but Rolanda didn’t seem to have noticed. “Nasty injury in my last year. Lost the Cup to Slytherin,” she said, her voice bitter. Rolanda laughed and Minerva found herself laughing with her. 

“Merlin, I’m sorry but there’s that good old Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry,” she quipped. “No wonder you’re still upset.” 

“I am not!” 

Rolanda just gave her a look and Minerva rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, maybe a little.” She sat forward a bit and changed the subject. “Why do we find you here, at Hogwarts?” 

Rolanda chuckled. “You make it sound as if it’s a shame that I’m here,” Rolanda joked. Minerva blushed a little. 

“Well—”

“You do know that Albus bloody Dumbledore works here?” 

Minerva sat back. “Okay, fine, but that’s Albus. He’s nuttier than my brothers,” she remarked. Rolanda rolled her eyes. 

“I retired before I could make some fool of myself like so many of those older players and I landed a pretty cushy job here, teaching our world’s next leaders,” Rolanda regaled, the last bit a little sarcastic. “What finds you here, Minerva McGonagall, youngest Animagus?” 

Minerva blushed again and this time it absolutely wasn’t because of the alcohol. 

“Well, I found myself at the Ministry and then the Ministry found me and let’s just say that it isn’t the best place of employment,” she commented, swirling her drink with the ice a little.

Rolanda scrunched her nose and Minerva laughed. 

“God, I swear that my friends are either getting married, having kids, or both,” Minerva lamented after a while. Rolanda laughed and it sounded a little bitter. 

“Darling,” she said, dragging out the “g”. They were clearly quite a bit drunk. “Let us join our pity parties.” 

Minerva just laughed and sometime in the morning Rolanda left for her office and she thanked Merlin that it was a Friday and the weekend tomorrow because she most definitely would be nursing a hangover the next day and she finished up her grading once she was able to get out of bed and she spent the weekend in the skies, flying away with Rolanda, away, away, as the years started to pass by and the decade turned and the first muggleborn Minister of Magic was elected and Robert got married—to a lovely witch that he’d met on his travels—and little Frank shot up like a tree and he was on a broom before Minerva knew it and whenever Augusta invited her for tea, Amelia was there too and after a while, after some time, Minerva no longer felt a pang in her chest. 

Rolanda asked her out for drinks almost weekly until they turned into impromptu Quidditch matches and then sometimes Rolanda would just drop by and they’d sit in silence as Minerva marked and Rolanda organized the schedules for flying and Quidditch and Albus gave her knowing glances at breakfast and Minerva just ignored him and continued to beat his ass at chess. 

It wasn’t until she was sitting in the staffroom having a cup of tea with Rolanda, Herbert, Albus, and Horace that she realised that her life was going just fine and while there were things she wanted that she didn’t quite get and things she did that she regretted, she was very much here, in her job, at her school, in the place that she called home and the next day when she popped down to Rolanda’s office for a nip of brandy, she pulled her by the lapel of her flying outfit and kissed her hard, relishing in the taste of her chapstick and how her hair was all over the place because she’d clearly just gotten off a broom. 

Rolanda kissed her back and wrapped an arm around her waist and asked her what took so long and Minerva just laughed, told her to shut up, and kissed her again, and again, and again. 

Rolanda was strong and small and fit right into Minerva’s hands and while she didn’t stay the night, Rolanda kissed her good night and winked and Minerva headed back to her rooms with a blush that Albus absolutely would’ve laughed at her for and she fell asleep thinking about how Rolanda’s hair was curly after she showered and somehow, she tasted just like flying did. 

The next day, a note appeared on her desk with a single red rose and Minerva grinned and met Rolanda after the day had finished in a perfectly respectable, very Professor McGonagall sun dress that had a collar buttoned up to the very top and her hair tightly wrapped into its usual bun but when she greeted Rolanda at the gates of Hogwarts, Rolanda just waved her wand and it all came tumbling down, a great mass of wavy black hair and Minerva blushed and Rolanda Apparated. 

They appeared in front of a very tall, very castle-like building that reminded Minerva a little of Hogwarts but darker and smaller and Rolanda approached the door like she’d done this many times before and gave a password and Minerva was more than familiar with places like this and gave her a grin as they were ushered in. 

Rolanda held out her hand and led her onto the dance floor, immediately rocking it out to the music in some of the strangest, weirdest, most endearing dance moves that Minerva’d ever seen and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Come on, Minerva,” Rolanda gestured, pulling her close. “Let’s get sloshed tonight!” 

Minerva laughed, ordered a drink, danced with a couple of other witches who were all very beautiful but she only had eyes for Rolanda and kissed her as the lights started to dim and the alcohol was truly getting to her head and welcomed her back to her private rooms and they woke up in the morning together, tangled amongst the streets and the sunlight and Minerva kissed her lightly on the forehead and grabbed some coffee from her office because her head really did hurt and they spent the rest of the day talking about everything and anything, still in bed as the students shouted outside and the birds chirped and summer was just on the verge and yeah, yeah, Minerva really was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a shorter chapter this time but i hope you liked it! unfortunately, with school piling up again, i'm going to have to change my update schedule to every two days rather than the current every other day. part two is a hefty one and i'm still working out some things here and there so i hope you'll understand. thanks so much for reading and commenting and the next update will be on february 2.


	13. Chapter 13

Looking back, this might’ve been the period Minerva thought she was happiest—her students were eager, especially that Molly Prewett in her house (though if her two older twin, trickster brothers could take a leaf out of her book, Minerva wouldn’t have to consider buying hair dye), Rolanda was right by her side, and Albus was still teaching the NEWT courses but Minerva had grappled the rest of them and the days were bright even if they weren’t and Frank was growing so quickly right before her eyes that she was eventually racing him across a pitch, Amelia fast behind them, and Augusta on the grounds watching. 

When Albus summoned her to his office later that day, Minerva didn’t think too much of it and just sent Fawkes on his way but when she knocked on his door, there was no reply and Minerva tentatively made her way through, only to find that half the room was ransacked, books all over the floors and papers littering the desk. It looked as if someone had completely trashed the office and Minerva gasped a little, holding onto her wand in her pocket. 

“Albus?” 

There was no reply and Minerva looked around, glancing at the portrait of Godric Gryffindor that guarded the entrance to his private rooms. She had no idea of the password, but if she were to guess—

“He’s in the Headmaster’s Office, ma’am,” the legendary founder said, brandishing his sword. Minerva frowned and thanked him, hurrying out of Albus’ rooms and up all the way to the Headmaster’s Quarters, of which she’d been to very few times outside of her hiring. What on Earth could Dippet want? 

Minerva gave the password and walked up the spinning staircase, hurrying it along and knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” Albus said and Minerva frowned once again. 

When she stepped into the room, she then realised why Albus’ office was a disaster. 

The room was a bit less of a mess than Albus’ rooms had been, but not by much. The books were still on the floor, waiting to be filled into some of the empty shelves and Fawkes was gracefully perched on his stand and Albus was standing behind the Headmaster’s desk, giving Minerva an amused smile. 

Minerva grinned. “Why in the world of Merlin wouldn’t you just tell me to come here, instead of having to rush all those flights up?” Minerva quipped, faux-glaring at him. Albus gave a hearty chuckle and Minerva noticed that some of his hair, still rather magnificently auburn, was starting to grey. 

“And ruin the surprise?” 

Minerva rolled her eyes and sat down as he’d gestured. 

“You can be ridiculously dramatic sometimes, Headmaster,” she drawled, smiling. Albus just clasped his hands together and his eyes were twinkling the most Minerva’d ever seen. 

“Well, Minerva, we ought to take the chances we are given,” he cheerfully said. 

“Not every chance,” she muttered and Albus just laughed again. “What about Armando? He’s not—”

Albus raised a hand and shook his head. “No, no, it just seems that our former Headmaster has realised that he wishes to spend the rest of his life with his family instead of slaving over a desk,” he said kindly. Minerva let out of a sigh of relief. 

“Then did you just summon me to tell me about your promotion?”

“No, my dear,” he began. “I’m here to tell you about yours.” 

Minerva’s neck snapped up so hard she was sure it cracked. “What?” 

Albus was smiling broadly and his eyes were the brightest Minerva’d ever seen. 

“I’m asking you to be my replacement, to take my place as Deputy Headmaster, in your case Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Head of Transfiguration Department,” he finished, looking at her calmly. 

Minerva’s eyes surely would’ve bulged out of her head if they could. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Albus chuckled. 

“Take your time to consider it; I am asking a lot of you,” he said, mirth dancing behind his eyes. Minerva folded her hands into her lap, clasping them together tightly. 

“I—”

Albus didn’t say anything, just looking at her with that rather infuriating, calm smile. 

“What about Horace? Surely he would be a better fit for Deputy—” 

Albus held up his hand. “I have thought about this long and hard, Minerva—”

“You’ve only just got the job,” Minerva shot back. Albus shook his head. 

“I think I’ve always known,” he said rather cryptically. “I also spoke to Horace about it and he told me, and I quote, ‘Albus if you’re thinking about handing me that Deputy position, forget it’,” Albus said. Minerva still looked at him with narrow eyes. 

“There is no one I wouldn’t think would fit these roles better than you, Minerva,” Albus continued kindly. “I understand if you need some time to think about it but I will need an answer by the end of the week.” 

“I accept,” Minerva said as soon as he finished. She was so fast she wondered if he even understood what the hell she was saying, but Albus did and he leapt up from his seat and hugged her tight and Minerva thought about all the things she wanted to do with Hogwarts, the things she wanted to change—removing Pringle, establishing some sort of English program, more women on staff—and hugged him right back. “It’d be an honour, Albus.” 

Albus gave her a grin and even though it was the evening now, the path was bright before her and as soon as they finished up an outline of future plans for the next year of Hogwarts, she rushed to Rolanda’s office and kissed her hard and told her that Albus was Headmaster and she was Deputy and Rolanda just joked that she was now kissing her boss and Minerva slapped her arm and Rolanda kissed her back and she woke up in Rolanda’s arms the next morning, the sun bright, the day warm, and the birds loud. 

Minerva wrote to Mother and Papa next, her words gushing onto the page and told them that she’d promise to be back for Christmas because she’d missed the year before and the McGonagall children were long graduated by now—Malcolm was going steady with Theodora Clarke, a kind Hufflepuff from his Hogwarts years who was probably expecting a proposal soon—and then she owled Augusta after, who wrote back saying that she better teach Frank well when he got to Hogwarts, which was just in a few years and Merlin, when had the years gone by, and she sent another to Amelia because they were still friends and Amelia was still the first person she’d loved and she wanted to share her wonderful news with the people she cared for most in her life. 

One of the first thing she did as Deputy was fire Apollyon Pringle—the rude, cranky caretaker that dolled out punishments that verged on torture (yes, Albus, I’ve consistently said what on Earth was Armando thinking!)—with Albus’ blessing and she was more than happy to see him go. The next thing she did was go over possible applicants for a Herbology Professor, because Professor Beery was retiring and Minerva wanted someone younger, a fresh pair of eyes until Albus told her that he’d already found a replacement and Pomona Sprout burst in through the door. 

“Pomona!” Minerva said with surprise. 

“Hey Professor,” she replied, grinning. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me, huh?” 

Minerva laughed a little. “Last time I heard of you was from Malcolm’s letter, saying how glad you were to have landed an apprenticeship in Germany, of all places,” Minerva commented. Minerva had her back turned to him, but she could feel Albus’ eyes twinkling. Meddling old man. 

“That was a couple of years ago and when Professor—I should mean Headmaster, now—Dumbledore owlled me about a possible position, I couldn’t stay away,” she explained. Minerva smiled warmly at her. 

“Well, we’re grateful to have you here,” she said, looking at Albus. “I presume that this interview may be one of formality as well?” 

Albus just chuckled and nodded. 

Minerva laughed, told him next time that she would find their next replacement, and welcomed Pomona to her rooms and chatted about her time in Germany, Minerva’s past decade—God, had it been that long?—here and when Pomona asked her if she had anyone in her life with a sly grin, Minerva just gave her a stern nod and told her that if she wanted the furniture changed in her rooms, to speak to her house-elf. 

She made her way back to Albus’ office, who greeted her with a glass of scotch and toasted her to her tenth year at Hogwarts and Minerva teased him about his age and they both drank to the school, to its prosperity, and Minerva went back to her quarters only to find Rolanda already there, curled up in bed with a book and grinned as Minerva kissed her. 

As the school term rolled around again and Albus formally introduced himself as Headmaster and Minerva as Deputy, Christmas came faster than expected and Minerva went back to Caithness, Apparting into the backyard and then making her way to the front with a suitcase filled with muggle clothes and attire that she’d quickly Transfigured and greeted Mother and Papa with warm hugs. 

“So, lass,” Papa said, welcoming her inside into the warm living room as Mother fussed around the kitchen—Robert was coming later with his wife and Malcolm with his fiancée—and sitting down, somewhat stiffly, into the armchairs. “Your mother tells me that you’ve been promoted to Deputy Headmistress.” 

Minerva couldn’t help but grin.

“Yes, Papa,” she replied and Papa smiled, the lines on his face becoming more pronounced and his completely grey, but to Minerva, he looked just the way he did when he had told her that he was proud of her top marks, bright eyed and warm. 

“I’m proud of you, lass,” he said, patting her knee. Minerva beamed and grabbed his hand. “Next thing for our dear Minerva to knock off the list is just marriage,” he joked loudly, clearly to Mother. Minerva rolled her eyes and sat back. 

Mother brought over two steaming mugs of tea, handing one to each of them. “You know, Minerva, I do hope you have someone up there in that drafty castle of yours,” she said, rather sternly. Minerva rolled her eyes. 

“I’m perfectly happy the way I am,” she replied because she was. There were many things her parents could understand she knew—magic, their three children being magic and different from their father—but she also knew, deep down, that this would be perhaps, just a step too far. She had Rolanda and she had Hogwarts and she had Augusta and she had young Frank and she had Albus and her life was so full, from teaching to her troublesome but endearing students to the world that she had built a living in. 

“You’re not getting any younger,” Mother added, glancing Minerva’s way. Minerva ignored the urge to sigh very, very loudly. She reached over and grabbed Mother’s hand. 

“I’m very happy, Mother,” she said, looking her right in the eye. She needed Mother to understand this, and she seemed to, because she just nodded and headed back to the kitchen. 

Papa just kissed her on the forehead before the door knocked and Minerva rushed over to welcome Malcolm, who was standing there with his fiancée Theodora, red-faced and beaming and Minerva hugged him hard and welcomed them inside and Theodora seemed a little nervous to be around her somewhat-former Transfiguration teacher and Minerva just whispered in her ear that it was nice for another girl to join them and when Robert showed up with Kathleen, she invited the two of them onto the back deck, cast a warming spell, and warned them both the trouble of McGonagall boys and they just laughed and said they were too far in. Minerva rolled her eyes and let the alcohol warm her up, loosen her tongue, and she Floo-called Rolanda before she went to bed because she was with her family and Christmas was something for family and while Minerva had that here, she also had that with Rolanda. 

The holidays were warm and bright and Minerva loved her family with everything she had in the world, but when she rushed back to Hogwarts and kissed Rolanda and held her tight, there were also other things she had in the world and she cherished them all. 

Term went by until Minerva showed up in Albus’ office, papers as usual strewn all over the desk, looking very, very troubled. Minerva frowned. 

“What happened?” 

“I just received a very strange letter indeed,” he commented, flipping a piece of parchment between his fingers. Minerva came by him and read through it. It was a letter asking for a job interview. 

“Well, Professor Merrythought is retiring. I’ve looked at a couple of applicants already and I’m sure we could—”

“I will interview this one, Minerva,” Albus said firmly and Minerva was slightly caught off guard by his tone. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said slowly. “Is there any reason why?” 

Albus’ brow just furrowed. “There are things… that I suspect, Minerva.” 

Minerva nodded, not really following along. “Like what?” 

Albus sat back, sighing. “That, I cannot completely say.” 

Minerva looked at him. “Is this about all those murders that you keep on reading about?” Albus pinned her down with a stare that made Minerva feel like she was walking through an X-ray. 

“Yes,” Albus replied. “I believe there is something brewing, so to speak.” 

Minerva thought about the recent Squib marches and the Pureblood riots that came with them and the letters that Amelia sent her that were mainly long, long complaints about the Ministry and how hard it was to get any work done and how things were moving fast and Minerva sat up straighter as she watched Albus. 

“I presume it’s related to”—Minerva glanced down at the letter once more—“this Tom Riddle?” 

Albus rested his chin on his fingers. “Not related,” he whispered and Minerva felt her stomach drop. 

“You think—”

Minerva couldn’t finish her sentence and she didn’t really want to hear Albus’ reply. 

“I do.” 

Minerva resisted the urge to shiver and didn’t ask to sit in on the interview even though she knew she should’ve and Albus didn’t offer. She did, however, pop in after it was finished and Albus was standing behind his desk, gaze strong and Minerva had the sudden realisation that this was the man that had defeated Grindelwald, the man that had the ability to give it all and Minerva felt the air chill around her. 

“I believe we still have a Defense teacher to find,” Albus joked, lightening immediately as she stepped in. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“Why did you invite him in the first place?” 

“It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to Tom,” Albus replied, as if he was talking about the weather instead of a possible murderer. 

“Ah,” was all Minerva said and they sat down to review applicants and sort out timetables for the next year and Minerva finished up a bit of marking and they ended the day with a game of chess and Minerva wanted to leaf through the papers and books all over Albus’ office, to find what he was really worried about because it couldn’t have been just over some former student but Minerva just headed back to Rolanda’s office and eventually her bed. 

Those things could be left for later. Rolanda couldn’t. 

Rolanda was in Minerva’s office when she mentioned it, as Minerva was marking her third years’ essays and circled yet another grammar mistake and underlined an inaccuracy with the theory. 

“You know, we should probably stop sneaking around like teenagers,” she commented, picking up Minerva’s copy of the  _ Evening Prophet.  _

Minerva looked up, quilled still in hand and tilted her head. 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

Rolanda just gave her a look that very clearly said that Minerva knew very well what she meant and Minerva did. 

“I mean that we should move in together,” she said, still skimming through the newspaper. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“At Hogwarts?” 

Rolanda rolled her eyes. 

“For someone so smart you can be incredibly stupid sometimes, Minerva,” Rolanda said. Minerva huffed and sat back, setting the quill back into the inkwell. “I mean that you should move in with me, at the cottage that I own.” 

Minerva thought about it—she’d been to Rolanda’s other home a couple of times, mainly over the summers and on the occasional weekend and it was a sweet, cosy thing that was perched uptop a grassy hill in, well, the middle of nowhere but Minerva didn’t mind that. 

She studied Rolanda, the curve of her nose, the smooth dark of her skin, her bright almost hawk-like eyes. 

“Okay,” she said, because this was something she wanted. Rolanda just gave her a grin, reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll grab my things this weekend,” she added. 

Rolanda leaned over and kissed her, soft, gentle, until Minerva kissed her back and she manoeuvred them over to her private rooms, marking long forgotten and Rolanda’s hands through her hair, on her waist, her breasts, her breaths almost echoing in Minerva’s sparse, stone bedroom that she had to mention to Albus that she would no longer be really living in. 

Minerva moved in that weekend, shrinking her things into her pocket and Rolanda Apparted them to her cottage and it was more beautiful than Minerva’d remembered, tucked away into their little corner of the world, surrounded by hills and mountaintops and trees and a lovely range for flying, Minerva mused and told Rolanda so and Rolanda just grinned. 

“I love you,” Minerva whispered as they finally settled in for the night, Minerva’s bag still at the foot of their bed but the kitchen tided up and everything dusted because Rolanda spent most of her time at Hogwarts. 

Rolanda propped herself up on her arm. 

“I know, you idiot.”

Minerva closed her eyes and laughed. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?” 

“No,” Rolanda whispered, kissing her slowly. “I love you too.” 

Minerva was warm against Rolanda as they fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here's the update! i will be slowing these down from hereon out: it'll be every two days instead of the original every other day since school is picking back up again and i'm nit-picking my way through the latter part of this decade. these last couple of chapters have picked up through the years pretty quickly and tom riddle visits hogwarts for a teaching position in 1967, for just a bit of context. thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


	14. Chapter 14

Frank Longbottom Jr. was welcomed into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts in at the start of September in 1968, just like his mother, father, Minerva, and Amelia had before him, a pudgy-faced, very young, boy with a mop of brown hair that looked just like his father’s but he had his mother’s confidence and Minerva gave him a slight smile when she greeted the first years for the Sorting at the top of the stairs in front of the Great Hall. 

He grinned brightly back at him and Minerva was excited to see his Sorting, even if she told herself that she didn’t play favourites and had a reputation for fairness and sternness that she very much intended to keep. She marched the students down the hall after her typical speech on houses and family and Hogwarts and called the names of each student, noting specifically her Gryffindors—she was Head of House, after all—and when Frank slowly came up to the stool and Minerva dropped The Hat onto his head, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and waited with bated breath as The Hat deliberated. 

She needn’t wait long, because The Hat boomed “GRYFFINDOR” under less than a minute and Minerva tried not to clap harder than she had with other students. For a second, she glanced back and caught Albus’ eye, who gave her the very slightest of smiles. Afterwards, when the first years were packed off with the prefects and the other students on the way to their respective common rooms, Minerva penned Augusta immediately and sent the owl soaring into the night and Rolanda came in a little later—they usually spent the evenings back at the cottage, but there were always exceptions and the first day was one of them—with a copy of the  _ Evening Prophet.  _

“Really, do you have to do that inside the school?” Minerva sniffed, sitting down beside Rolanda on the couch as the fire burned away, watching her smoke. Rolanda rolled her eyes and silently flicked her wand, opening the window in Minerva’s bedroom. 

“Well, you’re the one that insisted on staying here after the feast,” Rolanda commented as Minerva wafted the smoke away with her hand. “Want a try?” 

Minerva hesitated. Rolanda looked at her with daring eyes and a dashing smile. 

“Here,” Rolanda said, passing her the cigarette. Minerva took it between her fingers, holding it delicately. “Just breathe in and—” 

Minerva let Rolanda’s words wash over her and tried her very best not to cough when she took a short drag to no avail and Rolanda patted her on the back, laughing. Minerva glared at her. 

“You were the one that wanted me to do it,” she snipped, leaning into Rolanda’s embrace. “I’m never doing that again,” she coughed, punching Rolanda in the arm. “What’s this anyways?” she asked, picking up Rolanda’s newspaper and Rolanda just sighed. 

“Nobby Leach is ill. There’s talk he might resign,” she summed up as Minerva skimmed through the article. “Y’know, I heard rumours that the Malfoys had something to do with it. Some kind of poisoning,” she continued, taking another drag of her cigarette. Minerva flicked a wand to direct the smoke out into the window and away from her face, her frown deepening. She played with the necklace that Papa had given her all those years ago on her eighteenth birthday. 

“I don’t think Abraxas Malfoy is stupid enough to do something as drastic as poisoning the Minister of Magic,” Minerva said, looking at Rolanda skeptically. Sure, she’d gone to school with the man—which honestly didn’t really mean anything because Minerva hadn’t remember much of anything other than some pureblood rhetoric and the fact that he’d lost out on the Head Boy-ship to Raymond Creek, her Head Boy—and his son was in her fifth year Transfiguration class. “Even if he had—”

Minerva never got to finish her sentence because a beautiful phoenix had perched itself onto the open window and Rolanda nearly jumped up in shock. Minerva rolled her eyes. Albus certainly had a flair for dramatics, that was for sure. Fawkes had a note clutched in his claws that he had dropped into Minerva’s lap and nudged her for a pat on the head. Minerva obliged and read the short note. 

_ Minerva,  _

_ Apologizes with the short notice, but I will be out of the castle for the night and most likely tomorrow as well. The Minister of Magic has decided to resign due to poor health and the Deputy will be sworn in tomorrow. I rely upon you to temporarily oversee the school and owl me immediately if anything happens.  _

This wasn’t the first time Albus’d had to dash off—there was the time that Leach was elected and he was called in to help reign in the Pureblood riots and protests, and then the Wizengamot kept on calling him back to preside over cases and after the hiring of Argus Filch, a squib, there seemed to be more and more letters from angered pureblood parents that Minerva really just wanted to hex and ignore. But this time, unlike the others, had Minerva ever felt such a sinking in her stomach. 

Nobby Leach was the first muggleborn Minister of Magic and Minerva was proud to have cast her vote for him. To see him ousted like this, with what Rolanda had said, combined with Albus’ slowly growing constant absences, she couldn’t help but think that this was just the calm before the storm. She voiced this to Rolanda, whom she’d expected just to scoff and tell Minerva that she was silly, but Rolanda just took another long drag on her cigarette. 

“You grew up muggle,” Rolanda began. Minerva nodded. “The wizarding world was in disarray during Grindelwald,” she said quietly. “Granted, we were both pretty young then and Britain was less affected compared to the Continent, but Minerva, I can’t help but think that we may be heading in the same direction.” 

Minerva shivered. She looked away from Rolanda’s eyes, who looked haunted. 

“Your dad,” Minerva said slowly, treading on ice. “He died in the war, didn’t he?” 

Rolanda took another drag and Minerva was tempted to pluck it out of her hand. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice clear in the small room. “He did.” 

Minerva pulled her close and grabbed her hand. Rolanda seemed to have more to say, so she just held onto her. 

“It was a raid,” she said, still smoking. “He told my mother and I to leave immediately and he was killed helping our neighbours,” she said flatly, as if she’d said this before. She could’ve been talking about flying techniques. 

“I’m sorry,” Minerva whispered. She’d never lost anyone like Rolanda had, never truly felt the harsh stab of death. 

“It was a long time ago, darling,” Rolanda replied, tapping her cigarette out and banishing it with her wand. “Enough of this depressing talk. Let’s go to bed,” she said, giving Minerva a small smile. Minerva leaned forward and kissed her, gently, softly, like she never had before.

“I love you,” she whispered against her lips. She could taste the salt of Rolanda’s tears. 

“I love you too.” 

They fell asleep tangled between the sheets and each other, and when the news hit in the morning that they had a new Minister of Magic and another election would be on the way and Albus wasn’t at breakfast, Minerva squeezed Rolanda’s hand underneath the table and told herself that everything would be just fine, as long as she had Rolanda, as long as she had this  _ one thing.  _

Augusta wrote her back with gushing praise of her son and Minerva, once again, almost dropped her teacup at breakfast when she received a letter from Robert, one that was long due. 

“Everything alright?” Rolanda asked, chipper. Minerva just showed her the letter, unable to speak.

“Robert’s having a baby!” 

Rolanda grinned at her and grabbed her hand. 

“Oh Minerva, this is wonderful news!” 

Minerva just nodded and wanted to kiss Rolanda, right then and there but they were at the staff table and they were two witches and it was still 1968 and there were many things that Minerva could make happen but this was one of them that she couldn’t. 

When the day finished and they were in Minerva’s rooms—Albus still hadn’t returned and Minerva finished her rounds for the night and checked up on the wards—and Minerva couldn’t stop talking about her coming niece or nephew while Rolanda listened with an amused smile and soft eyes. 

“Do you,” Rolanda started slowly, when Minerva finished a tale about Robert’s Hogwarts years when she’d found him sneaking out of the common room for a snog with an ex-girlfriend, “do you want children?” 

Minerva stared at her, a little shocked. 

“I suppose I never really thought about it,” she said, because it was the truth. She loved her godson with all her heart and she knew that she would love Robert’s child just as much, but motherhood never quite crossed her mind. “How would it even—”

“Just as a hypothetical,” Rolanda quipped. Minerva tutted at her a little. 

“Look at you, all analytical,” she teased. 

“You’d be a great mum,” Rolanda commented. “You’re a natural with the students.” Minerva snorted. 

“They’re all terrified by me,” she joked, though it was partially true. She instructed with fairness and sternness because Transfiguration was a difficult and dangerous subject and she  _ really _ wasn’t in the mood to be monitoring fires every five seconds like Albus had. Rolanda rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe, but they love you all the same. Especially your Gryffindors,” she said, leaning on Minerva’s shoulder. “Seems that everyone’s getting married and having kids around us,” she commented. 

Minerva just nodded. 

“I’d do it, if we could,” she said, firm. Rolanda raised her eyebrows and just looked at her. “I was engaged once,” she added, a bit of an afterthought. Rolanda’s eyebrows must’ve reached her hairline at this point. 

“To a man?” 

Minerva nodded and chuckled. “Yeah. To a man.” 

Rolanda frowned. “When the fuck?” 

Minerva laughed. “Right after I graduated Hogwarts, actually,” she explained. “He was a muggle.” 

“Ah.” 

Rolanda didn’t know much about Amelia, only that it had ended badly and Minerva hoped that she didn’t connect the dots. She didn’t. “I thought about children then,” Minerva realised. “I thought about what our kids could look like, if I had a little girl, if she would have his hair and my eyes, if we had a little boy how we wouldn’t name him Robert because there’s already enough McGonagalls with that name,” she rambled. She hadn’t thought about Dougal at all in the past decade or so. Merlin, had it been that long? 

“I wonder if he has children now,” she mused. “He must’ve. It’s been so long and the last I heard of him, he was getting married.” 

Rolanda just held onto her. 

“I’d do it too, if we could,” she finally said, gripping onto Minerva’s hand. Minerva smiled softly at her. 

The next day, when Minerva’d slept with Rolanda by her side and woken to her curled up in her arms and the fall air sweeping in through the window she’d left open to waft out Rolanda’s smoke, she headed for Diagon Alley where she was supposed to meet Augusta for lunch that Saturday because Rolanda had Hogsmeade supervision and Albus was finally back and he just gave her a wan smile at breakfast.

When Minerva sat down at the table in the fancy restaurant that Augusta had dragged her to—she was sure that Amelia was on her way as well—Augusta gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and waved over a couple that was sitting a few of tables away with an enthusiastic grin. 

“It’s so good to see you!” Augusta greeted, before Minerva could even say anything. “Please, this is Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, meet Minerva McGonagall, or otherwise our dear Professor at Hogwarts,” she introduced and Minerva shook both of their hands, smiling at them.

“At Hogwarts you say? Aren’t you Dumbledore’s new Deputy?” 

Well, two years on the job could be qualified as new, she supposed, but she didn’t correct him. 

“Yes, and Transfiguration Professor,” she added with a hint of a smile. The older woman with the kind face and bun tugged on her husband’s arm. 

“Oh isn’t it fate, Fleamont? Our James will be heading there in a couple of years,” she said. “Though, I must warn you, he’s a bit of a handful.” 

Minerva laughed and patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m head of Gryffindor House.” 

Euphemia just exchanged a look with Fleamont that clearly meant that she probably couldn’t handle it but Minerva just ignored them and asked Fleamont about the Sleekeazy potion business, of which was just blooming, and when Amelia showed up, the Potters had already left and Minerva had an invitation to tea at their manor later that week. 

Well. She was always open to meeting the parents of future Hogwarts students and she didn’t think much of it as Amelia was talking about how her brother, Edgar was having a second child in as many years with his wife, whom he’d married a couple years back and Augusta was talking about how quiet the house was sometimes, now that Frank Jr. was off at Hogwarts and Frank Sr. was working away in the Auror office. 

“He’s been so busy with Dumbledore recently,” Augusta commented, sounding slightly bitter. Minerva sat up straighter. 

“With Albus?” 

Augusta nodded. “I don’t have the faintest idea whatever Dumbledore is doing with the Auror Department, but he’s there half the time now, according to Frank.”

Minerva just hummed and tucked the little tidbit into the back of her head. By the time their lunch was finished, Minerva was just a little tipsy and she hugged both Amelia and Augusta goodbye and promised Augusta that she would write—but not to spy on your son, Gussie, you know better than that—and bid Amelia the best with Emmeline, of which Amelia just blushed a little and told her congratulations with Rolanda and Minerva just punched her in the arm and they both laughed. 

Minerva came back to the castle in a flurry of robes and the  _ Evening Prophet  _ in her hand, shocked at the title and hurried her way to the Headmaster’s Office, barely knocking on the door and barging in. 

“Albus—” 

She stopped as she realised that a very well dressed witch in deep navy robes was standing by the fireplace, gesturing frantically as she spoke with Albus. 

“Oh, my apologies Headmaster,” Minerva rushed out, reaching for the door handle. Albus raised a hand and signaled for her to come in. 

“No worries, Minerva,” he began, nodding a head at the witch. “Please, this is my Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Minerva, this is our newly elected Minister of Magic, Eugenia Jenkins,” he introduced and the Minister reached over and shook Minerva’s hand. Minerva gave her a polite smile. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Minister. I am glad to have cast my vote for you,” she said and the Minister thanked her. She gave Albus a quizzical glance. He looked at the paper in her hand. 

“Ah, I see that you have already read the news,” he said. “The Minister was just informing me that one of our students were involved with the attack.” 

Minerva gasped. “Which student?” 

The Minister looked at her carefully. “Raymond Leed, a Hufflepuff I believe.” 

Minerva searched her recollection as much as she could, pinpointing on a young boy in her fourth year class with a mop of blonde hair and little skill in Transfiguration but a hand for Potions. “Is he alright?” 

“The attack—Minister, am I correct in saying that we’re still unsure about the perpetrators?”—the Minister nodded and Minerva gulped—“was aimed at a family of muggles and Raymond lived nearby. He’s currently in St. Mungo’s and the rest of his family is safe and with him at the moment. The muggle family was less fortunate.” 

“Merlin, Albus—”

“Deeply upsetting news,” the Minister commented, looking sadly at the ground. Minerva nodded and gripped the back of the seat in front of her. “Headmaster,” she said politely. “Minerva, I believe we’ll be calling it a night and I’ll owl any further information you may need to know,” she said and left the office with a whoosh and a burst of green flame. Minerva clasped her hands together. 

“Well,” she began. Albus just sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. “Nothing in the  _ Evening Prophet  _ said anything about a wizard being attacked.” 

When Albus didn’t say anything, she continued. “Albus, what’s happening? You’re tied up with the Ministry half the time and this can’t be the first muggle attack and I’m starting to think that I was promoted to really take  _ your  _ job while you manhandle the Auror Department.” 

Albus met her gaze with tired eyes. 

“There is talk of giants joining with wizards up north,” he said quietly. He rested his chin on his hands. Minerva sat down heavily in the seat across the desk. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No,” he started, “but I have a meeting in,” he glanced up at the clock, “oh just around thirty-two seconds with someone I’d like you to meet.”   
Minerva frowned but didn’t say anything and true to Albus’ word, thirty-odd blinks later, the fireplace burned up again and a rather short man with scars etched all over his face and a determined look stepped into the office. He dusted at his pants a little, cleaning up the ash. 

“Dumbledore,” he said, voice extremely gruff. He was an Auror, Minerva immediately knew, from his stance and the blue robed uniform and the fact that he just about scolded Albus about constant vigilance. 

“Who’s this?” 

Minerva sniffed. “My name is Minerva McGonagall,” she said, not bothering to hold out a hand. The Auror looked her up and down, as if he was measuring her. 

“Minerva, this is Alastor Moody. Alastor, this is my Deputy, Professor McGonagall,” Albus said and Moody gave an indistinguishable noise. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“She knows?” he asked him cryptically and Minerva felt like she was back in primary school where all the girls knew something about a party coming up that she wasn’t invited to. Albus nodded. 

“You trust her?” 

Albus looked at the Auror sternly. “Anything you say to me can be said to Minerva.” 

“I just came back from our source with the giants,” Moody said. “Some of them have spoken with Riddle.” 

Minerva’s eyes widened. 

Albus’ face darkened. “Thank you, Alastor,” he said quietly. “You’ve cleaned up all loose ends?” 

Whatever Albus had said about Moody being able to say anything to him he could say to her clearly wasn’t true because Minerva could recognized code even if she was only at the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement for a year. She didn’t like the nod that Alastor gave Albus back. 

“I’ll need you to depart for Wales immediately, then,” Albus instructed. Alastor gave him a look that Minerva couldn’t quite describe. 

“I’ll be taking some of my department,” he replied and Albus just nodded. “Anything else?” 

“No, thank you for all your work,” Albus said politely and Moody left through the fireplace and Minerva glared at him. 

“What the hell was that all about? Giants? Albus, you do realise that this sounds like a—”

“A war,” he finished for her. 

“A war,” she said. “Yes.” 

She fell back in her chair, looking at him seriously. “Riddle,” she started, shaking her head a little, “he was th-the one that you interviewed last year.” 

Albus gave her a solemn nod. 

“Albus, what in  _ Merlin  _ is happening?” 

Kathleen McGonagall went into labour on a cold winter morning in early December and Minerva rushed out of the middle of her fifth years’ OWL class to meet Robert at their house, where he was pacing back and forth in the living room as Kathleen was presumably upstairs. 

“How is she?” Minerva gasped as a greeting, leaning in and giving Robert a hug. “God, if you keep on messing at your hair you’ll go bald in five years,” she chided gently. 

Robert glared at her but kissed her on the cheek. “The midwife is with her right now. Minerva, you didn’t need to come so early—”

“Nonsense. My niece or nephew is being born and I’m not going to let Malcolm hold this over my head,” she sniffed. “And you know how Mother and Papa lecture me on not dropping by enough.” 

“You  _ don’t  _ visit enough,” Robert quipped and Minerva just clipped his ear. 

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. “You win.” 

“Damn right I do,” she said, stepping into the kitchen and making a cup of tea as they waited for the rest of the McGonagalls to show up. After fourteen hours, when the day had waned into night and Minerva had finally gotten her brother to lie down for a nap, a very hassled, very tired looking witch came downstairs and Robert snapped awake and Minerva could hear a cry from the hallway and her heart was so full it could burst. 

Twenty-four minutes later, Robert came carefully down the stairs with a bundle in his arms and Minerva and Malcolm and Mother and Papa all looked forward, inched closer in their seats. 

“Meet Isobel Minerva McGonagall,” he said proudly as the baby gave a wail. Malcolm laughed and nudged Minerva in the ribs. 

“I think he named her pretty accurately,” he teased and Minerva was too entranced with her niece to say anything back. Her face was very red and she looked terribly unhappy but all the love in Minerva’s heart was in this room and everything she could possibly have was in this small, tiny human and Mother just wrapped her arm around her waist—Minerva was almost an entire head taller than her now—and sniffed. 

“Oh Bobby,” Mother said and Minerva squeezed her arm. Papa looked at her with bright eyes and the entire room seemed warmer, almost seemed to glow in the snowy backdrop.

Minerva came back to the cottage with her hands freezing but her heart warm and Rolanda immediately greeted her in the hallway. 

“How was it?” 

Minerva smiled. “Good. Very good,” she said. “Kathleen gave birth to be a beautiful baby girl.” 

“Well,” Rolanda said, holding onto her arm and a glass of wine in her other hand. “Name?” 

“Isobel Minerva McGonagall.” 

“Oh Minerva,” Rolanda said, kissing her, tasting like alcohol and sweet toffee. “Congratulations! Young Izzy will be knowing her Aunt Rolanda very well—how about a broom for her birthday?”

Minerva laughed, taking off her coat. “You better have one of those for me,” she said, nodding at Rolanda’s glass. Rolanda just rolled her eyes. 

“You think I don’t know you?” 

Minerva rolled her eyes. “And she’ll be  _ one,  _ Rolanda. Even children’s brooms aren’t meant for ages that young.” 

Rolanda slapped her arm. “Come on, you can bend the rules for your  _ niece,  _ surely?” 

Minerva sighed and kissed her before she could say anything else. “Are you just going to nag me all night?” 

She grinned. “Yes.” 

Minerva just sniffed and pulled her close again and they sat by the fireplace as Minerva talked about Isobel and Rolanda’s eyes were bright in the warm light and Minerva couldn’t help but wonder. 

“Do you want children?” 

Rolanda looked at her sharply. 

Minerva was a little tipsy but she knew what she was asking. 

“I guess I do,” she replied. Minerva reached over and grabbed her hand. Rolanda sighed and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with her wand and taking a long drag.

“I could marry some bloke and then divorce him,” Minerva joked.  _ I almost married Dougal.  _

Rolanda laughed, loud and clear, smiling at her. 

“I don’t want to share you with some bloke,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “I don’t want to share you with anyone.” 

“We could look at options,” Minerva continued. “I know it’d lo-look strange, but Ro—”

“We both know we can’t,” Rolanda said softly. 

Minerva looked to the floor. 

“Yeah.” 

“But you can tell Robert that we’re the first to babysit,” Rolanda proclaimed, taking another drag. Minerva smiled sadly at her. 

“You’re all I’ve wanted,” Minerva said after a while, watching as the flames reflected in Rolanda’s eyes. “I wish I could give you that.” 

“You’ve given me everything,” Rolanda said calmly. Matter-of-fact. Minerva leaned over, took the cigarette out of her hand, and kissed her gently, softly, placing a hand on the armchair and another in Rolanda’s hair. “Minerva,” Rolanda said strongly. “Look at me.” 

Minerva pulled back. 

“You’re all I need,” she said, catching her gaze. No one had ever looked at her like that, not Dougal, not Amelia. “Everything I’ve wanted,” Rolanda whispered. “Everything I’ve wanted.” 

Minerva just kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. 

As the year came to a close, Minerva took her Christmas back in Caithness with Mother, Papa, Robert, Kathleen and Isobel, Malcolm and Theodora and Mother nagged her about a husband and Papa just told her that he hoped that she was happy and Minerva was back in their cottage by Boxing Day and she kissed Rolanda as the New Year rang in and Albus seemed to disappear more and more and they’d hired a new school nurse because Madam Merryweather was retiring—a lovely, very keen Poppy Pomfrey that had excellent NEWTs and a couple of years at St. Mungo’s under her belt—and it wasn’t until Albus pulled her into his office as the new decade waned before them that she realised that things were very, very wrong. 

“Minerva,” he began slowly and calmly. “I believe that we will soon be at war.”

Minerva heard herself gasp. 

“I am starting an organization,” he continued, “to fight where the Ministry is lacking.” 

Albus stared at her, as if he was looking right into her soul. Minerva straightened her back and stared him right in the eye. It looked as if the past couple of years had taken their toll, because Albus’ hair was greying faster than Minerva’d remembered and it’d been a while since they last played a game of chess with a glass of brandy. She thought about Alastor Moody and the Minister in Albus’ office and his empty chair at the staff table for the majority of the year and Tom Riddle and how their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was leaving again. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

Albus grinned, or as much as she’d seen him do in some time. 

“I’d like to welcome you to the Order of the Phoenix.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop and here we are, at the war! the next couple of chapters will start increasing in length (sixteen is a Big one) and i hope i'll be able to keep up with the current updating schedule as i'm still fiddling around with the last couple of chapters. i hope you enjoyed this one and let me know what you thought :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for mentions of death and some violence.

A week after Albus asked her to join the Order, Minerva eventually realised that what he was  _ really _ saying was that he needed someone to figure out where to host meetings, where their headquarters was going to be, start some kind of recruitment because at the moment, Albus was really quiet about who the hell was on their side in the first place and Minerva wasn’t even sure if she knew what in Merlin Tom Riddle was doing because as dramatic as Albus’ announcement was, it didn’t seem quite true. 

Until 22 September, 1970, that was. 

Minerva was cleaning up the kitchen after she and Rolanda had finished their dinner for the evening and an owl flew into the window with the usual copy of the Evening Prophet and Minerva told Rolanda to get it because she was going to grab some marking she needed to do but stopped on the stairs when Rolanda gave a loud gasp and Minerva’s heart dropped. 

“Rolanda?” 

“Minerva—” 

Minerva hurried over to the fireplace where Rolanda was holding the newspaper in her hand with a white face and Minerva felt her stomach sink. 

“God, Ro, what is it, just tell me—” 

Rolanda shoved the Prophet into her hand and Minerva felt the blood rush from her face. 

_ ELEVEN MUGGLE FAMILIES MURDERED. LORD VOLDEMORT TAKES CLAIM WITH “DARK MARK”.  _

“God, Rolanda, I need to go, I need to see Albus—” 

Rolanda looked at her with wide eyes and just nodded. Minerva kissed her quickly, grabbed her travelling cloak from the rack and gripped onto her wand as she stepped through the fireplace, calling for the Headmaster’s Office. 

“Oh Minerva, thank Merlin you’re here, I was going to call for you,” Albus said in a hurry as she stepped through. “I take it that you’ve seen the news?” 

“How did we miss this?” 

“Minerva?” Albus asked, looking at her with a tilted head. Minerva slammed the newspaper down on his desk with a loud thud.

“You’ve had Alastor sprinting all about the country, along with Dorcas and Fenwick messing around on the Continent and none of us saw this coming?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “How did no one see this coming?” 

“Minerva—” 

“No, Albus, you’ve had me setting up shop and finishing paperwork and God knows what else and you know my skills, so answer me, how did we not see this coming?” 

Albus didn’t say anything and sat down heavily in his chair. 

“You’ve been onto Tom Riddle since the beginning, Albus,” Minerva said, lowering herself into the seat across from his desk. “We need to get our numbers up,” she heard herself saying, trying to fill the silence as Albus just looked at her and looked at her and looked at her and Merlin, did he always look so tired? 

“God, Albus, I’m so sorry, I—” 

“No, Minerva. I’ve been asking myself the very same questions,” he said, raising a hand and cutting her off. “You’re right to bring them up.” 

Minerva looked at the headline spattered in front of her. 

“Forty-seven murdered, Albus,” she said softly. 

Albus just looked at her sadly. 

“I’ll speak to Alastor more about the Auror Department,” she said suddenly, standing up. If Albus wasn’t going to do anything right now, then she had to. “I can also get in touch with Elphinstone Urquart,” she added, knowing it’d be a bit of a pain but they had to have more Ministry information. More _ people.  _

“We can also use Hogwarts as a headquarters for now. We’ll want to move off soon though,” she continued, “I’ll set up a classroom with some wards and protections and we have to figure out some kind of communication method that’s faster than owls, Albus, because that may not be viable in the future. Along with that, we’ll need resources, training, basic defense,” she added, listing it all off, the things they should’ve done months ago, the things they should’ve been thinking about months ago, before Tom Riddle decided to show his face and forty-seven people were dead. Her voice washed across the office, as Albus listened to her carefully and looked at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. 

“We’ll need research, information, about Tom Riddle and his followers,” Minerva said calmly, trying to figure out the things that she could do. She was always good at research. At learning. “Anything you could fork over now, Albus, would be immensely helpful,” she finished, looking at him sternly over her glasses, glancing at the sheets of paper littering his desk. 

Albus sighed, waved his wand, and a stack of files flew before her. His handwriting was scattered among the documents, detailing, at first glance to Minerva, names of many prominent pureblood families and what was essentially a paper trail of money. Minerva scanned the papers as quickly as she could, her brow furrowing as each page turned. 

“Bellatrix Black?” Minerva asked, aghast. “Are you telling me that students are involved, Albus?” 

He didn’t say anything and just nodded. Her stomach felt hollow. 

“Albus,” Minerva started slowly, avoiding his gaze. “Do you think that he’s looking for students specifically?” 

Albus looked at her with a gaze that nearly set her on fire. 

“Yes, Minerva. I do.” 

Minerva grimaced and played with the files in her hands. 

“Well, we’ll just have to do something about that,” she said, even if she didn’t know how. Hogwarts was her jurisdiction and she’d be damned if some pureblood idiot was going to walk into her classroom and claim her students. 

Albus smiled, just a little. Minerva gave him a serious look. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, my dear. I’m just strongly reminded of your conviction,” he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. The twinkle was back in his eye. Minerva felt her face burn up but didn’t say anything about it. 

“I’ll have reports for you sometime this week,” she said, standing up. “I’ll get started with warding off a classroom.” 

“Thank you, Minerva,” Albus said quietly as she had the handle on the door. His gaze, like always, was piercing. Minerva just gave him a stern nod. 

Once she exited his office, she leaned against the door holding the files against her chest, taking a deep breath. Right. Find an empty classroom, somewhere. After a couple of moments, she headed for the sixth floor, scouting out for the hallway that she knew was typically abandoned by students because of its proximity to a particularly nasty portrait that yelled whenever you walked past. 

As she finished up with as many wards and spells that she could think of, she spelled off the corridor to any student with a rather nifty memory charm and stopped by her office, checked in with Gryffindor Tower, and Floo-ed back to the cottage. Rolanda came right into her face as she stepped out, causing Minerva to almost drop her documents. 

“Merlin, what happened?” 

Minerva wavered and set down her work on the kitchen table and placed her cloak away to buy time. 

“Minerva,” Rolanda said, following her around. “I know you and Dumbledore aren’t always hidden in that tower talking about the school budget.” 

Minerva sighed and faced Rolanda. “Albus thinks that this was a declaration of war,” she said. Rolanda grabbed her hand but didn’t say anything. “The Ministry is already busy away with their work, especially the Auror department, but Albus suspects that it isn’t doing what it needs to do, since many pureblood families hold power within,” she explained, as calmly as she could. 

Rolanda gripped onto her hand. “He asked you to join something, didn’t he? An organization?” 

Minerva nodded. Rolanda stared her down. 

“You joined,” she said. 

“Yes.” 

Rolanda let go of her hand and walked away into the living room, sitting down by the fire. Minerva watched as she pulled out a cigarette from the coffee table, lit it with her wand, and took a drag. Minerva waved her hand and the window opened, even though it was a fall evening and the cold air gushed in. She sat down across from Rolanda and gently held her hand. 

“What do you want me to say, Minerva?” 

Minerva didn’t know. 

“I don’t know.” 

Rolanda’s eyes were bright in the glow of the fireplace. “I know I can’t talk you out of it, as hard as I could try,” she said, laughing a little, but it sounded crude and unhappy. “I suppose it’s on me for being with one of the most headstrong Gryffindors born.” 

Minerva kissed her hand and laughed a little. 

“Ro,” Minerva started. She reached out and turned Rolanda’s head. “Look at me.” She did. “We have Albus on our side.” 

Rolanda nodded. “That we do,” she replied. Minerva smiled and leaned forward, kissing her softly. 

“What if I show you how much I love you tonight?” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. Rolanda just laughed, a proper, genuine laugh, and chased Minerva to the bedroom, hand in hand, as the fire blazed and Minerva closed the window and she kissed Rolanda, slow, like she never had before, like Rolanda was the first woman she’d ever loved and the next morning they ate breakfast together, headed to work together, and went by their days like their world hadn’t been tilted on a new axis. 

Minerva stopped by Albus’ office during her planning period, dropping off some Ministry-related budget paperwork and Alastor dropped by again, talking about how the Auror department was strapped and how he wasn’t sure how many more people he could bleed from their people and Minerva and Albus exchanged troubled glances. 

“Well, with a bit of happier news, I’ve just gotten the news that Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley eloped,” Albus said after Alastor left, holding up a letter. Minerva sat up straighter and smiled. 

“Really? Oh Albus, that’s wonderful, we must send them a card,” she said, grabbing the sheet of paper and reading through it. Albus, who was clearly friends of sorts with Molly’s mother, had written to complain about her daughter’s unplanned elopement and how there could’ve been the chance for a wedding and Minerva almost laughed. She sounded a little like Augusta and Minerva made a mental note to write her friend sometime soon. It’d been too long. 

“Frank Longbottom is with Alastor, right?” Minerva asked, changing the subject. Albus nodded as he read through some notes. 

“I don’t plan on losing more than we need,” Albus said seriously, setting down his quill. Minerva stood up suddenly, heated. 

“I don’t plan on losing any! And who on Earth made you a war general, Albus?” Minerva spat. Albus sighed heavily. 

“Minerva, I don’t think you realise that we’re in this for the long haul,” he said calmly. Minerva flinched. “And no one made me a war general,” he added. “Though you wouldn’t be wrong if that was the impression I’ve given you.” 

Minerva sat back down, sinking into her seat. Her chest felt hollow. 

“I have marking to do,” she stiffly, grabbing the notes she’d brought and headed back to her office without another word or another glance. 

Even if Albus had said those things, even if he did suspect them, Voldemort made no more moves for the rest of the year, as the Order curated its members, from Dorcas Meadowes, a book collector who worked in Knockturn Alley and was a couple of years above Minerva at Hogwarts, to Benjy Fenwick, a former Auror who had worked with Alastor when he was starting out, to Minerva’s coworker when she was still at the Ministry, Eleanor McKinnon—whose daughter was starting at Hogwarts next year—along with her husband, Mark McKinnon. The table in the classroom on the sixth floor had yet to be crowded, but Albus was speaking to witches and wizards left and right and Minerva was working the end with the Ministry, with Elpinstone, who was more than willing to speak to some of his employees and told Minerva at the same time that if she was ever going to leave Hogwarts, there’d be a place at the Ministry for her. Minerva just laughed and told him to scout his department and he just gave her a small salute and Minerva walked the grounds of the school with a spring in her step. 

Tom Riddle made surprisingly little moves over the years, even as the Order scouted areas and possible headquarters and kept watch in prominent Muggle towns across England, and Minerva kept at her work, kept at instilling fairness and goodness into her students, teaching them not only about Transfiguration, but also about how character was essential and that differences can only bring us together, not apart. She was starting to sound like Albus, Rolanda had quipped and Minerva just shushed her and went back to her marking of her second year class, of which had some excellent students—she’d just wish that James Potter and Sirius Black would put their minds to their schoolwork rather than spotting every corner with dungbombs. Lily Evans, however, was starting to shine like a star, especially in Horace’s class, of which he wouldn’t shut up about and as much as Minerva liked to brag about her Gryffindors, sometimes she wanted to smack him right round the head. 

Minerva didn’t leave the school much anymore, as Albus was called away often and Rolanda waited until late in the evening to sneak into Minerva’s rooms, as she hadn’t wanted to be found in Minerva’s office when Order members popped in and handed her their reports that she was meant to vet for Albus. 

“Merlin, I swear I feel like I’m sneaking around like a teenager, glancing back and forth for Filch in the hallways,” Rolanda joked as she opened the door and Minerva was sitting at her vanity, brushing out her hair. Minerva grinned and greeted her good evening. 

“Sorry it’s like this,” she said, plaiting her hair. “Albus is just gone so often now and I need to be here to mind the school, along with if any Order members come by—” 

Rolanda shut her up with a kiss and Minerva made a small noise but kissed her back. 

“I don’t mind we’re not at the cottage often,” Rolanda said after, pulling away. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“You sure?” 

Rolanda rolled her eyes and sat down on the bed. 

“I do wish we spent more time there, but there are things I can give up when my woman is saving the world,” she teased. Minerva blushed. 

“I am not saving the world,” she replied haughtily and Rolanda laughed again. “Anyways, we have Isobel for this weekend and I’ve made sure that Albus won’t have any impromptu meetings and if he does, the castle is Horace’s responsibility,” she said, crawling under the covers with Rolanda, who kissed her neck. “Oh Ro—” 

“You talk too much,” she whispered. Minerva giggled. 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm.” 

Rolanda just kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. 

As the weekend rolled around, Minerva watched happily as Rolanda chased a five year old Isobel on her small broom that they’d bought for Isobel’s third birthday—on compromise with Rolanda—around their backyard, which was really just a small patch of land that extended for as long as you wanted because they really live in the middle of nowhere but Minerva’d put up proper wards ages ago and she was wondering if she should add to them. There were things that you couldn’t be too careful about. 

“Aunt Min!” Isobel called, soaring past Minerva a couple of feet off the ground. Minerva got up from her chair and ran after her niece, who was laughing loudly. After a while, Minerva caught up the broom and snatched the young girl off, tackling her gently to the ground, tickling her. “Aunt Min!” 

“Yes?” 

Isobel gasped a little but was a giggling mess. “P-please, stop!” 

“Okay, okay,” Minerva acquiesced, hauling Isobel into her arms and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you very much, okay?” 

Isobel just giggled again and gave her a toothy grin. “I love you too, Auntie!” 

Minerva smiled bright as she walked back into the house, where Rolanda was making dinner in the kitchen and Minerva enchanted some toys to dance around Isobel when she sat her down in the living room. 

“Auntie?” Isobel asked after a while, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Yes?” 

“I have a secret to tell you,” she said, looking at her with a grin and leaning in. Minerva raised her eyebrows and cuddled up with her. 

“A secret, eh?” 

Isobel nodded brightly. “Mummy says that I’m going to have a younger brother or sister!” 

Minerva’s jaw dropped but she immediately snapped it up again, trying to hide her surprise. 

“Oh? Wh-when did she say this?” 

“Last week! Daddy said it was a secret but I just had to tell someone! Bunny couldn’t be the only one,” she said, clutching onto her stuffed animal. Minerva nodded, patting her head gently. 

“That’s wonderful news, Isobel,” she said gently. “However, if Mummy and Daddy say that something’s a secret, it is best to keep it that way,” she said sternly. Isobel looked at the floor, cowed. 

“But I just wanted to tell someone!” 

Minerva smiled. “I know, darling, but just remember for next time. I’m sure your father and mother were going to tell me eventually,” she said, holding onto her niece tightly. “I’m very happy for you, though.” 

Isobel grinned at her again and Minerva’s heart warmed. She stood up, pulling Isobel up with her. 

“Come on, I’m sure Aunt Ro has something delicious for dinner,” she said, sitting her niece down at the table as Rolanda gave her a wink. Isobel asked Minerva questions after questions after questions, all the way until Minerva and Rolanda tucked her into bed with a nighttime story and they retreated back into the living room as Minerva pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and Rolanda reached for a fag and Minerva opened the window and they curled up on the couch. Rolanda draped an arm around Minerva’s shoulders. 

“Have you ever considered telling your parents?” Minerva mused, taking a sip of her drink. She pointed her wand at the fire and raised the flames. Rolanda turned her head. 

“Sometimes, I suppose,” she replied. “Though I wonder what in Merlin Mum thinks about her thirty-something daughter living with her roommate.” 

Minerva laughed. Rolanda raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Minerva swished her drink a little, hearing the ice cubes clink against the glass. 

“Sometimes, yes,” she said, quiet. “I think Papa would take it particularly hard, however.” 

Rolanda nodded. “He’s a priest?” 

“Reverend.” 

“Ah.” 

“I don’t think Mother would take it well either,” Minerva said after a while. Rolanda reached over and covered her hand in her own. 

“Yeah.” 

They sat there for a while, sitting in each other’s company as the fire warmed the room. 

“D-do you think it would be nice? To meet my Mum?” Rolanda said, looking at Minerva. “We’re friends,” she added, with a hint of mischief in her eye and Minerva grinned. 

“I’d be honoured,” she replied. “However, what I really wonder is what Robert thinks of us, his older sister living with her colleague,” Minerva joked. Rolanda snorted. 

“If we’re being completely honest here, I didn’t think that Malcolm would find himself a girl,” Rolanda quipped and Minerva laughed. 

“Malcolm? Really?” 

Rolanda nodded. “How would we know, really?” 

Minerva sobered. “Mm.” 

“Though Albus wasn’t a surprise,” Minerva joked, giving a small laugh. Rolanda threw her head back. 

“No, he certainly wasn’t,” Rolanda replied, holding onto her hand. They spoke a little more, about everything and anything in between, not once mentioning the war. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Minerva said as she finished her drink. She reached over and plucked the cigarette from between Rolanda’s lips and put it out as Rolanda pouted. “They’re awful for you.”

“And alcohol isn’t?” 

Minerva just sniffed and headed for their bedroom as Rolanda followed behind, laughing as the night waned and Isobel slept quietly in the room over and their little cottage hummed to sleep. 

The first time Minerva was in a proper, honest to God, skirmish where her hand was shaking and her heart was in her throat and she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it back in time, for Rolanda, for Isobel, for her family, it was a warm evening in the spring of 1974 and Minerva didn’t know what she was doing. 

It was also the first time she’d watched someone die right before her eyes. 

The air was sharper than expected as Minerva was prowling the streets of muggle London, right outside the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron, with Dorcas Meadowes stationed inside the pub with a glamour and a supposed nose in a book. 

People were walking by, some faster than others and Minerva was thinking about the stack of endless essays that she needed to mark and how she was supposed to select the Prefects for the next year—she was debating between James Potter or Remus Lupin but knew that she really was going to go with Lupin—when she almost let down her guard and there was a loud bang from her right and Minerva immediately transformed and gripped her wand in her hand. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Dorcas whipped up from her seat and stood by the window. She gave Minerva a nod and Minerva found two wizards in dark robes and masks in front of her. 

_ “Stupefy!”  _

She’d missed. Spells flew over her head and Minerva immediately threw her hand to blocking off the muggles on the street and sent off a Patronus to Albus. 

But she was too late. 

_ “Avada Kedavra!”  _

A jet of green light shot from one of the Death Eater’s wands and found its way to the chest of a young woman running from the scene and she fell like a bag of sand. Minerva’s breath caught in her throat but an arm on her hand caused her to whip around. 

“McGonagall,” Dorcas hissed. “You need to get it together,” she spat, pulling her away from another spell that one of the Death Eaters shot at them and Minerva barely had time to collect her breath before she flung spell after spell at the cloaked figures and finally managed to stun one. 

_ “Crucio!”  _

The sound that came out of Dorcas’ throat wasn’t human.

_ “Confringo!”  _

The Death Eater staggered back in shock and dropped the curse and Minerva caught Dorcas right as she started to collapse, supporting her head and pointing her wand at the unconscious Death Eater, chaining him with rope around his hands. She summoned him to her, glanced over her shoulder, and Apparted the three of them of with a loud pop and her heart in her throat. 

She appeared in a dark alley, looked around thrice, disappeared again and again and again all over muggle England. On the fourth time, she tumbled over her feet to a quiet street lined with large, manor-like houses and Minerva prayed that Albus had gotten her Patronus and knocked loudly on the gate, stunning the Death Eater again as he started to stir. Dorcas was unconscious and there was blood leaking from her pants. Minerva thought about the muggle girl that was murdered and nearly threw up. 

“Minerva?” a worried voice asked from beyond the gate. 

“Yes!” she called back, waving the arm that wasn’t carrying Dorcas. “Please, Euphemia, Dorcas, she’s passed out—it was the Cruciatus—” 

“Where was James last time you came for tea?” Euphemia ordered, pointing her wand at her. 

“Outside, practicing Quidditch because he was showing off his skills,” Minerva gasped, her arms numb from Dorcas’ weight. Minerva winced at a stab of pain in her leg. 

“Come in, dear, oh goodness, let me call Fleamont,” she said, rushing them in through the gate and levitated Dorcas out of Minerva’s hands and Minerva nearly collapsed with relief. “Is Albus here yet?” 

Euphemia shook her head and the two of them nearly ran into the house. “I sent a message right as we were ambushed and we managed to capture one,” Minerva said, the brightness of the Potters’ home exploding in her view. “I need to owl Alastor,” she rushed out afterwards, stumbling into the kitchen where Fleamont grabbed her arm. 

“Minerva,” he said seriously. She looked around frantically. 

“They killed a girl!” she screamed. 

Fleamont looked at her with sad eyes and Euphemia glanced up from tending to Dorcas on the cot she had conjured. 

“Right in front of us—me,” she whispered. “I should’ve her out of there earlier—should’ve cast the—” 

“Minerva,” Fleamont said seriously, grabbing her shoulders and staring her down. She froze. “Minerva.” 

“There was nothing you could do.” 

Minerva blinked. She took a deep breath and drew herself up, straightening her robes. She exhaled unsteadily. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly, placing a hand on Fleamont’s shoulder. He just nodded but then gave her a concerned look. 

“Minerva,” he said slowly. Minerva frowned. “Merlin, your side—my God, Effie, you have to take a look at this—” 

Minerva lifted her arm up and there was a stain of blood on her robes over the left part of her chest. She gasped. 

“Merlin, I hadn’t even noticed—I’ll head back to Hogwarts to have Poppy deal with it,” she said quickly. “Euphemia, you need to help Dorcas, she’s still not awake,” Minerva protested, thinking about the young girl’s name that she didn’t even know. “I need to get back to Hogwarts, I only Apparted here as it was the closest—” 

“Minerva,” Fleamont repeated. “Please, let Effie see to you.” 

His voice rang over her nerves like water. Minerva nodded and began to take off her robes, peeling back the outer layer. Euphemia placed some kind of charm over Dorcas and sat Minerva down at the kitchen table, rushing Fleamont out of the room as it was “ladies’ time” and also presumably to contact Alastor and Albus. Minerva winced as Euphemia pressed gently at her ribs. 

“Some kind of cutting spell,” she mused, rummaging through her bag that rested on the table. 

“How is Dorcas?” 

Euphemia tutted and pulled out a small potion bottle. “She’ll be fine. Just in shock, I suspect, from the Cruiciatus. I’ve given her a post-curse potion,” she said calmly. Minerva took a deep breath. 

“Thank you,” she said as Euphemia dripped some of the potion onto her wound, her pain disappearing almost immediately. Euphemia smiled and grasped her hand. 

“Can’t have James lose the person that keeps him in line the most, can we?” she smiled warmly and Minerva laughed. 

“You certainly do have quite a handful,” she quipped. “I would be expecting another letter this month regarding some kind of prank he and his friends are always up to.” 

Euphemia chuckled and held her hand out, pulling Minerva up. “Alright now?” 

“Minerva?” 

She glanced up only to find Albus, out of breath and looking very frazzled, standing in the hallway. 

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright,” he said, calmly as he could and Minerva gave him a smirk. 

“I’m not sure if I appreciate the lack of confidence, Headmaster,” she joked and Albus laughed. 

“No, no, of course not dear,” he replied. “How is Dorcas?” he asked, looking at Euphemia. 

“Give it some time, Minerva said she was underneath the Cruciatus for a while and there were God-knows what spells were thrown,” Euphemia replied, glancing over to Minerva. 

“I think I’ll speak to Minerva and then after, we’ll wake Dorcas,” Albus said, gesturing Minerva into the living. “Fleamont, Euphemia, thank you very much for your help tonight.”

“Don’t worry, Dumbledore,” Fleamont said, waving a hand. Euphemia nodded and Minerva gave both of them a smile. Albus sat down in an armchair by the fire, waving a hand with powerful privacy spells that Minerva recognized. 

“Now, Minerva,” he said seriously. “What happened?” 

So she told him. About the patrol and how she cleared the muggles out of the way, how the Killing Curse flew right in front of her and how the girl fell to the ground and Minerva didn’t hear the thud, when Dorcas was tortured and Minerva couldn’t help but hear her screams when she closed her eyes, how she’d stunned the first Death Eater but didn’t manage with the second. Albus listened to her carefully and placed a hand on her knee afterwards. 

“That was very brave of you, Minerva,” he said afterwards. 

Minerva wanted to yell that it wasn’t, that she hadn’t felt brave at all, that out of anything else, there was fear pumping through her veins and all that was on her mind was how she was going to get back home, back to Rolanda, to Isobel, to her family, to Hogwarts, how this wasn’t how she wanted to die and how heavy Dorcas was when she Apparted her from point to point to the Potters’ home. 

But she didn’t say any of that and she just gave him a wane smile and he told her about what happened to the Death Eater that they’d captured but Minerva couldn’t really care, even as Albus talked about how Alastor had handled it and how she’d done a great job even when Minerva had watched an innocent girl murdered that night. 

“I—I just want to go home,” she whispered after a while. Albus nodded and they both stood up just as Dorcas was stirring on the cot in the kitchen and Euphemia rushed over from the counter and she was asking for water and Minerva couldn’t look her in the eye until Dorcas grabbed her hand and told her thank you and Minerva wanted to yell, yell at everyone how she hadn’t done anything right and how she hadn’t done anything about the young woman and there were so many things that she wanted and the one most of all was Rolanda. 

But she didn’t yell any of that either. 

Albus stayed behind to speak to Dorcas, presumably to compare their stories, Minerva told herself darkly, and she graciously thanked the Potters and told them that James was doing quite well in Transfiguration, though she wished that he’d apply his skills to class more than dungbomb throwing and Euphemia just laughed and Fleamont just gave a kind smile. 

Minerva took the Floo and shook the ashes off of her robes when she stepped through the fireplace, the cottage dark. 

There was a light coming from their bedroom. Minerva stripped off her robes and left the sweaty, bloody, dirty clothing in the middle of their living room, not quite caring. She was shivering. 

“Rolanda?” 

“Minerva?” 

Rolanda was in their bed, head propped up with one arm as she leafed through a book. “Merlin, what the hell happened?” 

Minerva just shushed her and crawled underneath the covers, not caring that she hadn’t showered yet and there was a giant scar across her stomach. 

“Minerva, what the fuck—” 

“Can-can you just hold me?” she whispered. 

Rolanda frowned but nodded. Her arms were strong and warm around Minerva. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that. I can do that.” 

Minerva curled into herself and Rolanda just grasped onto her and Minerva grabbed back like she had nothing left, like Rolanda was her lifeline, like she hadn’t seen all the things she’d seen tonight. 

“You’re eventually going to have to tell me,” she teased, running a hand down Minerva’s back. 

“I know,” Minerva said. “But not tonight.” 

Minerva hooked her leg with Rolanda’s, entangling them further. She wanted to be as close as possible, as warm as possible, to be everything with Rolanda, like they had promised. 

“Okay,” Rolanda said after a moment. “Not tonight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're right in it! the rest of part two will be very war focused so i will caution you for the coming chapters as this is just the beginning of a lot of tragedy. i hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know what you thought ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some canon-typical violence along with descriptions and mentions of death.

“How in Merlin’s world is  _ Harold Minchum _ Minister of Magic?” 

“A very, very unsettling one,” Albus replied with a hum, taking a sip of his coffee that Minerva was sure was more cream and sugar than caffeine. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“For someone who seems to live on a diet of sweets, you’re remarkably thin,” she commented, snatching away the pastry in his hand that he was about to eat. “You may not care about what you put into your body, Albus, but I’d rather not have our Order leader drop dead because of a heart attack.” 

Albus glared at her and Minerva just looked at him with an arched brow. “Anyways, I suppose you were already informed last night?” 

Albus hummed in confirmation. “Merlin, I know Jenkins wasn’t dealing with You-Know-Who well, but Minchum? The man that wanted to put more Dementors around Azkaban as if there weren’t too many to begin with,” Minerva said, aghast. Albus narrowed his eyes when he heard the new moniker for Tom Riddle, or more as he was known now, Lord Voldemort. 

“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t be using that name,” he said, arching an eyebrow. Minerva arched one right back. 

“You said. _ I _ made no such agreement.” 

“Fear of a name—” 

“Increases the fear of the thing itself, I know, I know,” Minerva finished, rolling her eyes. Albus almost seemed to pout a little and she laughed. “No need to wax lyrical with me at eight in the morning on a Tuesday.” 

Albus just picked up her copy of  _ The Prophet _ and pretended to ignore her. “When is Kathleen due, out of curiosity? I remember you mentioning it a while back,” he said after a beat. Minerva beamed. 

“End of the year, sometime late November,” she replied. “Oh, Isobel is so excited. I think she’s more delighted to be an older sister than another aunt.” 

Albus smiled. “Wonderful to hear such news,” he said and Minerva didn’t need him to say the in such times to hear it. “I also see that your godson is graduating this year,” he continued, giving Minerva a wink. 

“Augusta wouldn’t shut up about it if she could,” Minerva quipped. She couldn’t be accused of favouritism, after all. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Albus. “You’re not thinking—” 

“No, no,” he replied but Minerva didn’t quite believe him. “But Mr. Longbottom has approached me about it. He’s rather adamant to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

Minerva nearly gasped. “Albus, they’re students—” 

“He won’t be when he’s graduated.” 

Minerva glared at him but couldn’t do more than fume as they were at the Head table and it would be school-wide news if the Deputy Headmistress blew up the Headmaster. She snapped at Potter and Black who were both climbing onto Gryffindor table in some sort of ridiculous dance move, of which Black just blew her a kiss. 

“Whatever you want, Minnie,” he yelled, grinning and Minerva glared at him until he sat back down, laughing with Lupin beside him. 

“Ah, next time you see our wonderful Mr. Black, do let him know that he’s been providing me the best of comedy recently,” Albus said in her ear as he stood to leave and Minerva was very, very tempted to reach out and slap her boss. Unfortunately, she could not do that and followed Albus back to his office with full intentions of giving him a piece of her mind there. 

When the door slammed shut behind them, Albus gave a wince and Minerva almost grinned. 

“You cannot be thinking of recruiting students, Albus,” Minerva said firmly, staring at him from across his desk. “All you’ve been talking about recently is how we cannot stoop to their level, how we cannot use their methods and yet you’re willing to drag children into this?” 

Albus sat down, the smile slipping off as he ran a hand down his face. 

“I do not know if we will have a choice, Minerva,” he said heavily. “Jenkins was pushed out for a reason that you and I both know very well. You yourself have reports of the mess that is the Ministry at the moment.” 

Minerva gulped but nodded. 

“The circle of people I trust is very small, Minerva,” he said seriously, meeting her gaze. “We cannot be taking more risks than necessary with Alastor’s Auror department.” 

Minerva frowned. “Do you mean that you suspect there’s a spy?” 

Albus didn’t say anything and Minerva’s stomach dropped. 

“Not necessarily a spy, but I have suspicions that not all believe in our cause,” he said. Minerva’s brow deepened. 

“Albus, we have already asked them to give up their time and quite possibly their lives, surely—” 

Albus raised a hand and Minerva faltered. “Mr. Longbottom is volunteering and I’m not going to turn him away,” he said with finality and Minerva’s shoulders dropped. She sniffed and then lifted her chin at him. 

“Alright, but you shall deal with a raging Augusta,” she quipped, turning on a heel and fumed all the way back to her office, where she scribbled a hasty letter to Augusta and prepared her materials for her first class of the day. As expected, a large owl was awaiting Minerva at lunch and at the end of the day, she told Rolanda that she’d be home late because she was meeting Augusta at The Three Broomsticks. 

“Augusta,” she greeted as she stepped into the pub, glasses fogging up a little from the warmth. 

“Minerva,” she replied seriously. “You must be pulling my leg with that letter.”

Minerva grimaced as she sat down, ordering a Gillywater for herself and a Firewhiskey for Augusta. She looked at her haughtily and Minerva took her in carefully—it’d been much too long since one of their teas and the stress of a husband in the war was holding its toll, as there were new creases near her friend’s eyes and a tiredness behind them that was coupled with a spark. Minerva wondered if Augusta was noticing the same things in Minerva as well.

“I am not,” said Minerva. “I spoke to Albus about it this morning—though yelled at him might be more accurate.” 

Augusta gave a small smile. “That’s my Min,” she quipped. “He won’t be following his father’s footsteps in this.” 

Minerva tilted her head. “Augusta, I know he’s your son and my godson, but do you think there’s anything you could say that would stop him?” 

Augusta glared at her and sat up straighter, taking off her large hat with a stuffed bird perched on the side. Minerva almost rolled her eyes at it—she would never understand pureblood fashion. 

“I’ll forbid it,” Augusta said firmly, with so much conviction that Minerva almost believed that Frank would listen. 

“Gussie,” replied Minerva, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand. “I’ll keep him safe.” 

Augusta softened, just a little. 

“He’s still forbidden,” she said and Minerva laughed. 

“How are you?” Minerva asked after a while, still holding onto her friend’s hand. “It’s been quite some time.” 

Augusta looked at her with warm eyes and Minerva was flung back to her Hogwarts years, when she’d first met Augusta, the haughty but kind girl that had barged into her cabin on the Express and into her life. 

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she replied vaguely and Minerva just raised an eyebrow. Augusta looked a little alarm. “Where in Merlin did you perfect that?” 

“From teaching children ages eleven to eighteen,” Minerva quipped and Augusta laughed. 

“Tell me, I’m all ears for more of your complaints about the delightful Mr. Potter and Mr. Black,” Augusta said with a gleam in her eyes. 

Minerva smiled and she regaled Augusta about the pranks that the four boys were always up to, how James was rather brilliant at Transfiguration and how Sirius had some of the highest grades without studying much, how Remus was the top of his class right behind the very bright Lily Evans, how Peter Pettigrew was excelling in Herbology and there was also the loud Marlene McKinnon, the quiet Mary MacDonald, the students in her house that she was looking out for and the students in her house that gave her an almost permanent line in her forehead, the students that she loved all the same. They talked and talked and talked into the evening, about anything and everything except the war. Augusta rambled on about how she was expecting a proposal announcement from Frank with the every-kind Alice Fortescue and she could already see the wedding and Minerva just told her like mother like son and Minerva Apparted Augusta home because there were certain chances that they just couldn’t take now and when she landed in her cottage, the lights were already out and Minerva stepped into their bedroom, Rolanda fast asleep. 

Rolanda draped an arm around her when Minerva crawled underneath the covers and Minerva kissed her lightly and Rolanda mumbled something incoherent. Minerva smiled and she dreamt of a world where You-Know-Who didn’t exist, one where she didn’t argue with Albus on a near-daily basis, one where she could declare her love for Rolanda off of the rooftops of Hogwarts, one where they maybe had a small family, maybe a daughter with Rolanda’s eyes and Minerva’s hair, or a son with Rolanda’s laughter and Minerva’s ears. 

As 1975 rolled on by, Minerva spent more and more time at the Ministry, checking with Elphinstone and his employees and speaking to government officials and listing off the ones that she thought were infiltrated by Death Eaters, slowly researching, everyday after her classes and reported back to Albus every week. The work was tedious, tiring, and while a small portion of her craved for a field assignment, all she could think about was the young girl’s body falling to the ground and Dorcas’ screams. 

Frank Longbottom Jr. graduated with top honours, Head Boy, and a job offer from the Auror department and Minerva couldn’t help but feel her stomach drop a little as she handed him his diploma and kept her tears at bay and gave him a tight hug because she was allowed to do that with her godson at graduation, wasn’t she? Alice Fortescue finished top of her class, Head Girl, and a job offer from the Auror department and Minerva couldn’t help but think how young they both looked, how bright their smiles were as they threw their caps into the air and the sky in the Great Hall was clear and sunny and Minerva felt something drop in her chest but she couldn’t say why. 

Frank and Alice were at the next Order meeting and Minerva felt like throwing up. She could only imagine what Augusta’s reaction was because when she spoke to her godson, he’d sheepishly scratched his neck and said that he hadn’t told her yet and begged Minerva not to tell his mother and Minerva agreed but told him to keep his head on his shoulders and he just grinned and said when had he ever not? 

Minerva hugged him and kissed him on the cheek and wondered when he’d gotten so tall. She spoke to Alastor next and begged him to keep Frank and Alice on desk assignments and he just gave her a look that she knew better and Minerva sighed and he gave her a pat on the back and a sad smile and Minerva headed back to their cottage afterwards, sat in the living room and bummed a fag from Rolanda. 

“Where’s the Minerva that used to hate those?” 

Minerva took a drag, feeling the smoke fill up her lungs. “She wasn’t in a war.” 

Rolanda winced but draped an arm around her shoulders. 

“What if we just left?” she whispered into Minerva’s ear. Her breath was hot on her skin. “Just packed up and fucked off to Merlin-knows where?” 

Minerva mulled it over, taking a long drag. She dangled the cigarette between her fingers, watching the smoke with great interest. She could almost see it right before her, Rolanda swimming in the sea in a cottage much like the one they had right now, somewhere far away from Hogwarts, away from Scotland, away from England. There was a young girl paddling after her, her short black hair soaked from the water. There was a young boy making sandcastles on the beach and it was so clear that Minerva almost could reach out and grab it. 

“It sounds lovely,” Minerva whispered. 

“It can be,” Rolanda continued. 

The smoke almost billowed in the air. 

“We can’t,” Minerva said. 

“I know.” 

“It’s a lovely thought though, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I can see it, right in front of us, you know?” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Minerva snuffed out her cigarette and leaned in, kissing Rolanda softly. 

“I love you,” she whispered. Rolanda’s eyes were bright and warm. 

“I know,” she replied. “You’re so silly sometimes.” 

Minerva laughed. “You just going to leave me hanging?” 

Rolanda looked up at the ceiling as if she was debating about it. 

“I don’t know,” she replied with a grin. Minerva kissed her again, harder this time. “Okay, okay,” Rolanda said when she pulled back and they were both slightly out of breath. “I love you too, you stupid fool.” 

Minerva’s chest was warm and her home was warm and the woman in her arms was warm and she held on tight, because it was Minerva and Ro, they would make it through this together, if not on Minerva’s sheer will alone. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and the summer breeze wafting in through an open window. 

As summer faded to fall and then slipped into winter, the Hogwarts’ grounds were covered in a vast expanse of snow when Minerva received a frantic owl from Robert in the dead of night and Ro slumbered awake beside her and Minerva nearly slapped the poor thing out of frustration but when she scanned the letter in the dim light, she summoned her cloak, yanked Ro out of bed and Apparted the minute they could, landing right outside of Robert’s small townhouse. 

Minerva knocked frantically, almost forgetting to ask Robert a security question and ignored his strange look at Ro who was standing beside her still half asleep and hand in hers. 

“How is Kathleen?” Minerva asked, hanging up her cloak and Isobel, who was awake at this point, ran into her arms with a very tight hug. “Hello, darling.” 

“Aunt Min! Aunt Ro! I’m going to be a big sister!” 

Minerva just laughed and Rolanda smiled brightly at her sort-of niece. Minerva picked up Isobel who giggled and sat down on the couch in the living room. 

“Mother and Papa?” Minerva asked as Isobel made silly faces on her lap. 

“They’re coming. I think Mother is trying to convince Papa to Apparate,” Robert joked, looking like he was trying to cover up his nerves. “Rolanda, right?” 

Ro smiled and held out a hand. “A shame we’re meeting like this,” she said, giving him a firm shake, clearly more awake now that Robert had mentioned that Minerva’s parents were coming. She shot Minerva a somewhat nervous look and Minerva just pulled her down onto the couch with her.

“Do you want anything to eat? Drink?” 

“No, but thank you,” Rolanda replied politely, but Minerva said that she wouldn’t mind a glass of water because Robert very much obviously needed something to do with his hands and he smiled stiffly and hurried into the kitchen. 

“You didn’t say that I would be meeting your whole family,” Rolanda hissed into Minerva’s ear, quiet enough that Isobel would’ve missed it. Minerva winced a little. 

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Do you want to head back? I can make your excuses. I know it isn’t the ideal situation.” 

Rolanda rolled her eyes and snorted. “I’m more interested in what you’re going to tell them,” she replied and Minerva paused. “That you’re here for your niece or nephew’s birth with your colleague?” 

Minerva brushed her hand with Rolanda’s. 

“You’re my very trusted roommate,” Minerva whispered back with a grin. Rolanda smiled. 

“I can go if you want me to,” Rolanda said, looking Minerva in the eye. 

“I don’t want that,” Minerva said. At this point, Isobel, who had chimed into a bit of their conversation, looked at them with an opened mouth. 

“I don’t want you to leave, Aunt Ro!” 

Rolanda laughed and reached out and brushed a curl out of Isobel’s face. “Don’t worry, chimp, I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Isobel giggled and jumped off of Minerva’s lap to play with the toys on the ground in front of the fireplace. “Whatever you say, Minerva, I’ll be with you,” Rolanda continued, sitting closer but not enough to touch. 

“Thank you,” she replied, soft. She wanted to reach over and take Rolanda’s hand, pull her close like they were at home, but Robert came back with her glass of water along with a platter of biscuits and there was a knock on the door and Mother and Papa rushed in and Minerva hugged them both and helped Papa to the couch and they all patiently waited as Robert paced back and forth and Malcolm eventually showed up, still in his pajamas and Minerva smiled brightly when she saw her whole family—Rolanda included—huddled around the hearth with Isobel right in the middle. 

If either Mother or Papa thought it was strange that Minerva’s coworker was there with them, with Isobel calling her “Aunt Rolanda”, they didn’t say anything. 

Robert Thomas McGonagall III was born during the hallowed mornings of a windy December, his loud wails sounding down the stairs after the silencing spell had been lifted and Robert scrambled upstairs to greet his son. Mother had tears in her eyes and Papa was beaming as he held his grandson and Rolanda looked at Minerva from across the living room with such a warmth, one that battled the fire roaring away, that she thought she was going to melt with joy right there and then. 

As the sun started to rise, Minerva, after spending a solid hour with Robert III in her arms and Rolanda right next to her, grabbed her cloak and almost grabbed Rolanda’s hand when Mother pulled aside and Minerva told Rolanda that she’d just be a minute. 

“Mother?” 

“Minerva,” she started, looking up at her and Minerva was startled with how small Mother was, how it’d been a long, long time since it was Mother that towered her, not the other way around. “I’m not quite sure about what it is exactly that you’re doing, but my dear,” she said, her voice wavering. She reached out and grabbed onto Minerva’s arms. “And I can’t say I understand, but I hope you’re happy.” 

“Mother, I—” 

Mother just gave her a look and Minerva shut up immediately. 

“You may think me old-fashioned and traditional, but I am not blind, Minerva.” 

She placed a hand underneath Minerva’s chin and tilted it up. “You are first and foremost my daughter,” she said with bright eyes. “There’s nothing that would change that.” 

Minerva sniffed and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Her eyes were misting. Mother reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. 

“There’s nothing I could want more for you than your happiness,” Mother whispered. Minerva blinked. 

“I have it, Mother,” she replied, quiet. “I really do.” 

Mother smiled, the lines around her eyes creasing. “It does my heart good to hear that, my dear.” 

Minerva blinked harder and pulled Mother close, wrapping her into a hug. Mother was small and warm, frailer than she had remembered, but she smelled the same as she did all those years ago in their kitchen when Minerva had asked about when she knew what love was. 

“Do visit more my dear, you’re always cooped up in that castle of yours,” Mother said, slightly muffled into Minerva’s cloak. “Or that cottage,” she added with a grin and Minerva pretended to look scandalized when in reality her heart was beating faster than ever and if she saw her reflection she was sure that her eyes would be beaming sunlight. Minerva told her that she would, kissed Mother on the cheek, said goodbye to Papa and Malcolm and a very occupied Robert and Apparted home with Rolanda, whom she’d kissed the minute they stepped through the door. 

“You should come out more to your parents if this is the reaction,” Rolanda teased, fumbling at the buttons on Minerva’s robes and angling them towards the bedroom. Minerva just gasped as Rolanda kissed her neck. 

“It was just my mother, maybe you’ll get lucky next time when I speak to Papa,” Minerva managed to quip, as Rolanda pushed her up against the wall, their destination of the bedroom forgotten. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Rolanda whispered in her ear as a hand reached down between Minerva’s legs. “My beautiful, brave, Minerva.”

She just gasped and leaned against the wall, Rolanda’s hand warm and steady. “To be precise, Mother figured it out, I didn’t say anyt—” 

“Minerva?” 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up.” 

Minerva didn’t have much of a choice because Rolanda was so quick and Minerva was already so wet, her moans and gasps loud in their small cottage and Rolanda clutched onto her as her voice climbed, a burning rushing through her, warming every single inch. She leaned her forehead against Ro’s and kissed her gently and led her into the bedroom. 

The next morning, an owl landed in their kitchen window and in Albus’ neat, loopy script, Caradoc Dearborn was missing. 

Minerva’s throat tightened and Rolanda was singing along to the radio that was playing as she made breakfast. 

The room chilled, as if it knew what had happened. 

Rolanda stopped singing. 

At the next Order meeting, this time one in some library in the middle of Merlin knew where—really, because Albus always seemed to pick some of the most obscure places, though Minerva knew that was best—with overbearing walls and a hollowness that seemed to seep into her bones. 

She shivered. Sometimes she wished that Albus could’ve let them stay at Hogwarts, instead of hopping around every couple of weeks, but she also knew that while Hogwarts was slowly becoming one of the safest places in Britain, there were too many students to risk and if there was something that Minerva wasn’t going to give up in this war, it was the youth and innocent of her charges. Merlin, Frank and Alice were already sitting across from her, with Frank Sr. to their left and Minerva felt a pang in her chest at just how young they looked. Goodness, had she ever been that age? 

However, it wasn’t the familiar faces of her godson and his girlfriend that surprised Minerva this time around. 

It was the glittering smile of Edgar Bones, the young, awkward boy that had sometimes followed her and Amelia like a duckling during the summers she’d spent at the Bones’ manor, begging them to let him fly with them, the young freckled face had matured and grown into a handsome young man and if she was correct in what she’d last heard, he was happily married with three small children. 

Albus hadn’t spoken to her about this most recent addition and there was probably good reason for that. Speaking of Albus, he swept into the room with a ridiculous set of bright purple robes that Minerva just almost rolled her eyes at and sat down beside her, immediately bringing the room to a hush. 

“Thank you everyone for coming,” he began and Minerva passed him the notes she had open, though she doubted, like always, that he needed them. “Today I must begin with the unfortunate news that Caradoc Dearborn has gone missing.” 

The room tittered, the twenty-something of them nervous, quiet, and solemn. From the continued muggle disappearances, “gone missing” was often worse than dead. Minerva sucked in a breath. This was their first casualty and suddenly, the image of the dusty-blonde haired man with a crooked smile and large ears shattered in front of her and a great emptiness trickled its way into her soul. 

“As with that, I have already assigned Mundungus and Alastor to look into it and we remain hopeful for further news,” Albus continued, looking down the table and Minerva sniffed. 

As they went around and each member quickly recounted their information and news, from three more muggleborn raids to vampires and giants starting speaking to Death Eaters to the rumours that many of You-Know-Who’s men had infiltrated with the Ministry. 

Minerva couldn’t help but that this was just the beginning. 

After the meeting, she spoke briefly with Eleanor McKinnon, who was there on her own as her husband Mark, who was currently out on a mission with some of the Aurors with the Ministry, inviting her to tea in the castle—along with to visit her children, Darren and Marlene, because there were very few things that one could look forward to during these times and well, not everyone had a Rolanda. 

As she listened to Eleanor’s worries with Mark and then Frank’s worries about Augusta, she was suddenly very, very glad that Rolanda wasn’t in the Order or the Ministry or anything to do with this goddamned war because as next week’s meeting came and the week after that and then the month after that and then the next month after that, Caradoc Dearborn was still missing and Minerva was the one that had to speak with his wife and two muggle children about why their father wasn’t coming home and there was such a fire in her chest that when she Apparted back to Hogwarts, the door slammed open to Albus’ office. 

“The next time we get ourselves involved in a bloody stupid war, you get to tell the families that they’re dead,” she spat, Albus jumping as she barreled through. 

“Minerva?” 

“I do everything you ask without question, Headmaster,” she said stiffly, the images of Caradoc’s young girls crying as they asked their mother what Minerva was saying and why there was a funny-looking lady in a big hat telling them that their father wasn’t coming home. “I carry out your orders without knowing whatever the  _ fuck’s _ going on in that head of yours, but next time this job is yours,” she hissed. 

“You get to look their wives and their children in the eye and why their fathers aren’t coming home because I am bloody not,” she snapped as Albus slowly stood up. He nodded, infuriatingly calm. His posture was of perfect poise and Minerva knew that she looked insane, standing here with her wand almost drawn, yelling at the Headmaster in the Headmaster’s office. 

“Of course, Minerva,” was all he said and Minerva wanted to slap him. 

“How can you just stand there?” she yelled. “Why don’t you feel anything, you bloody idiot?” 

Albus didn’t reply. “Half the time I don’t even know who we’re fighting,” she continued. “My brother just had another child and I don’t even know who we’re fighting,” she repeated, quieter. 

She dropped down in the chair in front of the desk and Albus did the same. He reached over and patted her hand. “To be honest my dear, I don’t either.” 

They were quiet for a while, just sitting there as the instruments stirred and whirred in the background and some potions brewed to the left of them. 

“How is Robert, my dear?” Albus asked after a while, summoning a chess board and setting it in between them. Minerva frowned but answered, talking about how happy he was to be a father and how happy she was to have a nephew, how excited Isobel was to be a big sister, how Mother eventually figured out the truth with her and Rolanda. 

“That’s wonderful, Minerva,” Albus said, smiling at her. “It’s a great joy to have that with a parent.”

Minerva smiled sadly. She knew all too well that Albus’ mother and father had died before he probably even knew that  _ he _ was gay. “I suppose now, however, there’s never been a better time for discretion.” 

Albus nodded solemnly. “I don’t dare push my nose into your personal life, Minerva, but you know what’s happening now and I can’t lose you.” 

“Can’t lose your Deputy or can’t lose me?” Minerva quipped dryly. Albus looked her right in the eye. 

“Both. The amount of people I can trust I can count on one hand,” he said, giving her a serious glance. “I presume it would be the same for you.” 

As much as she hated to admit, he was right. Albus opened up his play on the board and Minerva did the same. 

“I also presume there was a reason you didn’t let me know about the addition of Edgar Bones to the Order, hm?” 

Albus winced a little. “Ah, yes. I’d rather not be beaten up by you and Amelia in the same week.” 

Minerva laughed and he smiled. “What about bringing Amelia on?” Minerva asked. It would be a good option. She was high up in the Ministry and an extremely competent witch. Albus tapped his chin. 

“I had thought about it, however,” he said, examining the board with great interest, “I worry about putting her position at risk. Merlin knows that we need more people like her in the Ministry and if she’s out, it’s very likely that she’ll be replaced by one of Voldemort’s people.” 

Minerva frowned. “Let me speak to her. Maybe we can work something out. I don’t want to continue to have to turn to students,” she said firmly. 

Albus agreed and this time she had to surrender her king and she went back to her office and penned a letter to Amelia, trying to avoid the nerves in her stomach because it’d been a while and since Frank was graduated and grown and moved out, the three of them from their Hogwarts days were busy and it was harder and harder to just grab a drink whenever you’d liked. 

She mentioned it to Rolanda over dinner in their little cottage, the fire burning bright. 

“It was years and years ago Minerva, I hope you’re not telling me this to make me nervous,” she joked, sitting down with a bottle of beer. 

“No, no, just thinking about the past, I guess,” she mulled, feeling rather pensive that evening. 

“Well, we both know that you do enough thinking for the two of us,” Rolanda quipped, clinking Minerva’s glass of wine with her beer. Minerva smiled waspishly. Minerva reached over and grabbed Rolanda’s hand. 

“You know that I’m not ashamed of us, right?” she whispered, voicing what was weighing on her mind. Rolanda just laughed. 

“You think I’m stupid? You always invite me to those stupid Ministry meetings that you have to go to for Hogwarts whenever Albus is ‘too busy’ to attend,” she replied. “Of course I know that, Minerva.” 

Minerva smiled and drew circles on the back of Rolanda’s hand. “There have just been things I’ve said and believed and you know that now we really do need to be more cautious—” 

“Minerva,” Rolanda said seriously, interrupting her. “I read the news every little bit that you do. Just because I’m not in your secret little organization doesn’t mean I don’t know anything.” 

“Good,” was all she said, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “I’m meeting with Amelia tomorrow,” she repeated. 

Rolanda just grinned. “So you’ve said.” 

Amelia knocked on her office door at precisely five in the afternoon, a sharp two ticks and the woman that walked in was very different from the young girl that had stolen Minerva’s breath and heart in their sixth year. She was older, of course, but she carried herself with a maturity and a wisdom that Minerva had firmly held in their student days. Her face was harder, her eyes sharper, and Minerva was almost tempted to reach out and ask where the Amelia she’d grown up with had gone. 

“You know, usually you would be coming to my office for this sort of thing,” she joked in-lieu of a greeting and Minerva relaxed. Amelia was still very much there. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said, because it was true. The people that she cared about seemed to be scattered across the country, something she became more and more nervous about as the war loomed. 

“It’s good to see you too, Min,” Amelia replied, sitting down gracefully. “Now, what has the esteemed Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts summoned me for?”

Minerva got right to it. 

“My brother is already part of the Order,” Amelia pointed out. Minerva nodded. 

“We need more help working the Ministry, and there’s no one that knows the workings of the system than you,” Minerva said, looking Amelia in the eye. “We both know that the Ministry is weak. You’re leaking left and right with spies and infiltrators and half the time you don’t even know if the information you’re working off of is accurate.” 

“You seem to know a lot for someone who just said that she needed more help with the Ministry,” Amelia pointed out, narrowing her eyes. “To be clear, I’m not against the idea, Min. I’m just being cautious.” 

“As you should be,” she replied. “There can be measures placed if you’re worried about your position.” 

Amelia waved a hand and shook her head. “It’s not that I’m worried about. It’s your end. You know things about the Ministry, but I’ve also heard things about the Order.”

Minerva frowned but allowed her to continue. “I have reservations about Dumbledore.” 

Minerva’s brow deepened. “What about Albus?” 

“I worry about the precedents that this sets,” she quietly said. “Doesn’t it scare you that we’re enlisting fresh graduates? Some of these wizards aren’t even twenty.” 

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Amelia, Hogwarts sends all of those graduates. If you don’t think I know exactly how many of those witches and wizards are seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

Amelia smiled. “And I thought the Min I knew was long gone.” 

Minerva smiled back. “I could say the same for you.” 

Eventually, Amelia agreed and Minerva handed her a slip of paper for the next meeting location and led them up to Albus’ office and he shook Amelia’s hand and Minerva wondered if it was a normal thing to recruit your ex and first love into a secret organization to defeat a stupid fascist. Probably not, but you really never knew with the wizarding world. 

Minerva didn’t ask about Emmeline Vance or Dorcas Meadowes or anything she’d heard about Amelia because it was years ago and Amelia’s private life was no longer her business and Amelia didn’t ask about Rolanda or anything else, but they did grab a drink with Eleanor and occasionally Frank Sr. when he had the time, where Emmeline would join in every once in a while, who usually dragged Dorcas along. 

“Merlin, when do you think this’ll be over?” Eleanor slurred slightly, moon-eyed over her drink. 

“In our dreams,” Dorcas replied snarkily and everyone groaned. 

“That one hit a little too close to home, Meadowes,” Amelia quipped. Dorcas just grinned. 

“What’s a war without it hitting close to home?” she joked and Minerva took another drink of her scotch, burning down her throat. 

“Say, Min, do you even know what’s going on in that silver haired head of Dumbledore’s?” Amelia asked, leaning over the table for another drink and Minerva got a handful of a cleavage that she hadn’t seen in a long, long time. She ignored it. 

“Is there anyone who knows what’s tumbling around in Albus’ head?” 

“Quite right,” Emmeline said, holding up her glass. “Here’s to not knowing what the hell we’re doing!” 

“Here here!” 

“Cheers!” 

Minerva returned home quite a bit drunk and found Rolanda smoking on the couch. She smiled and plucked it from Ro’s lips, taking a long drag. The smoke heaved its way into her lungs. They sat and smoked and went to bed and Rolanda was curled around Minerva and then two days later Minerva was out on the streets of Diagon Alley with Emmeline by her side and Benjy across the street when a loud blast nearly splintered her ear drums and her wand was immediately pointed to the building. 

Before she could see who had invaded the street, she placed up a shield from the rest of the alley, witches and wizards Apparting left and right and it was just Emmeline and Minerva against God knew what and the next thing she did was sent a Patronus to Albus and Amelia. 

There was a loud cackle that sent chills down Minerva’s back. 

_ “Stupefy!”  _

_ “Bombarda!”  _

Spells flew left and right and four figures in dark robes and masks emerged from the smoke, it trailing behind them. Her heart was beating out of her chest and the blood was pumping in her ears. 

_ “Confringo!”  _

The masked Death Eater collapsed and Minerva had just enough time to slip through into the potions ingredients store that was bombed, running her way through the wreckage looking for people. She hoped that Emmeline was holding her own and sent another Patronus to Alastor and another to Frank Sr. 

There was a small cry as she scanned the ruined store and as she spelled through the rubble, there was a young girl buried between two large slabs of stone. Minerva was just going to ask about her mother until she saw a woman’s body lying on the ground, still bleeding out. 

Minerva felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one. 

The girl couldn’t have even been Hogwarts age. She gently lifted the slabs with her wand and then levitated the girl out. Her brown hair was matted with dirt and dust.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. The girl nodded. “Did you see anyone else in the store?” 

The girl shook her head and Minerva just pulled her closer. “Can you tell me your name? Mine is Minerva,” she said softly. 

“I’m Allie McAllistar,” the girl replied, just as quietly. 

“Alright, Allie, here’s what I want you to do,” Minerva said, pulling her to the fireplace that was in the back of the store. “Can you take a bit of this,” she placed some Floo Powder into her hand, “and then step into the fireplace and say loud and clear ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Infirmary’? There will be a nice lady with blonde hair to help you,” she explained. 

Allie nodded. Minerva waved her wand again and sent another Patronus to Poppy. “Do you think you can do that for me, Allie?” 

“Y-yes,” the girl stuttered and Minerva gave her a smile. She stepped into the fireplace and with a whoosh of green fire, she was gone. Minerva placed a quick spell on the whole building, checking for other signs of life. She would have to come back for the body of the mother later, she knew, as she carefully stepped out of the store and immediately ducked from a flash of green light. 

The Order had gotten her Patronuses and more Death Eaters had shown up and Minerva was shoulder to shoulder with Eleanor, blood running down her face and her hand growing numb. 

_ “Incarcerous!”  _

_ “Deprimo!”  _

_ “Stupefy!” _

Suddenly, the Death Eater she was dueling stopped and disappeared with a crack. With loud pops all across the alley, each and every one of the robed wizards slipped into the night. A chill ran down her spine and her stomach dropped. She caught an eye with Dorcas whose determined face reassured Minerva, just a little. There was a great gush of wind and windows shattered everywhere. 

Minerva ducked and Emmeline, who was right beside her, was in shock. Minerva grabbed her by the back and shoved her down. 

“Get it together!” she hissed and Emmeline, wide-eyed, nodded. 

Minerva understood why, because he was talking down the street. 

Minerva had actually yet to properly meet Tom Riddle and she finally understood what Albus had meant when he said that Voldemort had shed his skin as Tom Riddle, because it was almost literal in a sense. 

The man—if you could even call it that—was very much not completely human, with glossy pure white skin, snake-like eyes and nostrils, along with hands that made Minerva’s skin crawl. 

It was Alastor that made the first move, sending a complicated array of spells to Voldemort, the man blocking them with ease. Minerva spotted a chance between Alastor’s spells and was horrified to discover that with a wave of his hand, it was as if she hadn’t sent anything at all. 

Spell after spell, with Dorcas and Emmeline and Eleanor and Frank and more Aurors on the way and Voldemort had barely broken a sweat. 

Minerva, on the other hand, felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest and there was already something wrong with her arm and she wasn’t sure if he was just teasing them at this point, lazily standing there, as if he was gloating them, telling them just how much better he was. 

That was, until he hissed and in a cloak of black smoke, the Death Eaters returned. 

And there were at least double the amount. Minerva sent another Patronus to Albus as she duelled with a Death Eater that she was almost sure was Rosier and she was so tired but she nearly missed another spell and there was chaos all around her and she hoped that Poppy had healed up little Allie and—

There was a scream. 

It wasn’t unlike Dorcas’ when she was tortured. 

Minerva barely had the chance to glance in its direction but she saw Eleanor collapse out of the corner of her eye and her first thought was thank God it wasn’t Rolanda. Thank God she isn’t even here.  _ Thank God, thank God, thank God— _

She nearly missed a hex coming her way and she rushed over to Eleanor as quickly as she could, lifting her body up underneath her arm, feeling very much like the time she had with Dorcas, Eleanor warm and heavy. 

With a loud crack, they Disapparated to the Hogwarts gates and Poppy in all of her glory, was already waiting there and Minerva was so tired but she just dropped Eleanor into her helping hands and with a pop, was back in Diagon Alley. 

Alastor was covered in blood but he was still duelling it out with a Death Eater that Minerva thought was one of the Blacks. 

Emmeline and Amelia were side by side and Minerva was back into the warfare, using every single spell she had at her disposal, barely even thinking as she ducked green light after green light after green light. 

It wasn’t until a hand yanked her behind a wall that Minerva felt her heart again. 

“Merlin, Minerva, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Amelia hissed, darting out another spell from the corner. 

“Just about the opposite,” Minerva quipped, carefully stepping out and sending a strong hex. 

Then, like they had before, the Death Eaters started to disappear again. Minerva’s breath was in her throat, waiting for him to make an appearance, but when she looked up, it wasn’t Voldemort standing in the midst of the rubble and the ruin, it was Albus, his grey beard and hair blowing in the wind, wand raised and the air crackling around him.

Oh. 

Minerva calmed, as if she was settled into a warm bath. She clutched onto Amelia. 

_ Oh.  _

Albus surveyed the scene carefully, looking around and starting to piece Diagon Alley bit by bit back together. 

It would be in  _ The Prophet _ the next day anyways. 

Minerva joined him, starting with healing Alastor’s cuts and Emmeline’s bruises and Frank’s arm. Then, they all stayed behind and picked up the remains of one of the hearts of the wizarding world. 

Minerva retrieved the body of Margaret McAllister and found that she was a Hufflepuff and her daughter was supposed to go to Hogwarts in three years and she was buried just outside of London and she was a lovely wife and mother. 

When Minerva got back to their cottage, Rolanda was already asleep and Minerva fell asleep on the couch because she was too tired to make it to the bedroom. 

Thank Merlin it was a Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may have noticed that the archive warning "Major Character Death" was added; don't worry, it's not minerva! i just wanted to put this out there since this was a bit of a last-minute decision/realisation. please heed this warning if you're uncomfortable with such themes! thanks again for sticking around and reading my story and let me know what you thought with this chapter <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some canon-typical violence, mentions of death and some homophobia. just as a heads up that these chapters will continue to get darker from hereon out.

Frank and Alice were engaged by the end of the summer of 1977 and married by the end of November in a small, private ceremony that Augusta fumed about for a week—she had plans for a great, huge bash for Frank and the ever-lovely Alice, but there was a war going on and Minerva told her so bluntly and Augusta just sighed and continued on talking about Alice’s wedding dress, which was beautiful but not more than the love that the young couple shared. 

Minerva and Rolanda sat together in the second row, right behind Augusta and Frank, with Amelia and Emmeline behind them. She didn’t grab Ro’s hand as she watched Alice walked down the aisle by her father, the girl’s—no, woman’s—smile radiating the entire room as Frank Jr. beamed right back to her. 

There may have been threats and fighting and death and darkness surrounding them, but in this moment, Minerva was watching her godson get married to the girl of his dreams and her heart was so full she thought it was going to burst.

Merlin, they were so young. 

There was a short reception after and Minerva hugged Frank tight and gave him her congratulations and whispered in Alice’s ear to keep an eye on him and she just laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. 

“You take good care of my godson, okay?” Minerva asked, giving Alice’s hand a small squeeze. 

“Will do, Professor,” she replied with a grin and a salute. Minerva just laughed and pulled her in for another hug. 

“You just married my godson and no longer my student. Please, call me Minerva,” she said, holding onto Alice’s shoulders. “Though, I am a little surprised that Frank managed to hoodwink you into marriage,” she joked, reaching over and straightening Frank’s lapel. 

Alice laughed and Frank pretended to look offended. 

“Why, Aunt Minerva, what in Merlin are you talking about?” 

Minerva just raised an eyebrow 

Ro didn’t tear up but Minerva thought she did a little and Ro teased her about it all the way home, when they got back to their little cottage that they had to spend less and less time in because Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain at this point and they were both teachers and had students to watch over. 

“Do you ever think about what it would be like after?” Ro asked as they undressed for bed. Minerva looked at her in the mirror as she brushed her hair. 

“I suppose it’s hard to ever see any of this ending,” she replied, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the drawer. 

“Yeah, it is,” Rolanda replied, plucking the fag from Minerva’s hands and taking a drag. “I’m an awful influence.” 

Minerva grinned. “That you are.” 

“I’m visiting Mum tomorrow,” Rolanda said after a while, as they smoked together in silence. “I want you to come.” 

Minerva nodded. “I’d like that.” 

“Good.” 

“Tell me about her,” Minerva whispered, putting out the cigarette and crawling underneath the covers. Rolanda had spoken about her mother a couple of times and Minerva knew that she visited when she could, but it would be a long time before public opinion swayed on two witches in love and well, Minerva was never ashamed of Rolanda—couldn’t ever be ashamed of Rolanda—there were simply some things they had to give up that people like Augusta and Frank never even had to think about. 

“You’ll like her,” Rolanda said, joining Minerva, staring at the ceiling as Minerva studied her profile. There was a small bump on her nose that she’d always liked to kiss. “Mum was an excellent flier, you know. She taught me everything I know about a broom.” 

Minerva knew this already, but Ro’s voice always got soft like this whenever she talked about family and Minerva liked hearing it. 

“Always the loudest person in the room,” she continued. “Dad used to tell me that was what he liked about her first—he would always say that you’d hear her coming into a room before she got there.” 

Minerva laughed a little. 

“How come it’s taken us this long?” Minerva mused. Ro leaned up on an arm and looked down at her. 

“To ‘meet the parents’?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I suppose things are just different, with us witches,” Rolanda replied. “Always has been, for us sapphics.” 

Minerva snorted. “You could say that.” 

“I’m surprised your mother took it so easy,” Rolanda continued. “I have no idea how Mum’ll react. I guess you can almost be forty and still be afraid of your parents.” 

“Whatever she says, I’m here,” Minerva said, looking Rolanda in the eye. “Whatever happens, I’m here.” 

Rolanda grinned. “You better be. I swear every time you go off on one of your mysterious meetings you shave some years off of my lifetime, Minnie,” she joked. Minerva frowned at the nickname but kissed her anyways. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll always come back to you,” she said cheekily.

“Minerva McGonagall, was that a line?”

“Yes, indeed.” 

Minerva met Martha Hooch on a cold day in the middle of November and a small witch with graying hair answered the door and Rolanda asked her their security questions, she welcomed them into the red brick house that sat in the middle of the neighbourhood, right across from the small city hall and a modest church nearby. 

Rolanda beamed and Mrs. Hooch—who immediately insisted that Minerva call her Martha—welcomed her in with tea and biscuits and Minerva took in the lovely house that Rolanda grew up in. Minerva peered out of the large window in the living room, glancing out right onto a large field that had Quidditch goals and was presumably charmed to remain out of sight from muggles. 

Minerva reached over and grasped Rolanda’s hand as Martha sat down across from them on the couch. She just gave them a warm smile and Minerva felt very much at home, very much at ease. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minerva,” Martha said, pouring the tea. “Rolanda’s spoken so much about you and I’m tickled pink to know that she has a companion in that lonely castle of yours.” 

Minerva felt her cheeks burn. 

“It’s an honour,” she began, picking up a cup and looking at Rolanda. “It’s great to finally meet you.” 

Martha looked at her warmly, the creases around her eyes deepening. They chattered, almost mindlessly about everything and anything, from Minerva’s classes to Rolanda’s lessons to Minerva’s niece and nephew and Minerva’s family and the most recent Quidditch games and how Rolanda and Minerva first met and nothing about the war because it had crept into almost every corner of their lives and Minerva wasn’t going to let it disrupt this one. 

However, there was one thing that Minerva’d asked about the war. 

“Is your home properly warded?” 

Martha looked at her with some surprise and set her cup down on her saucer. “Of course, dear, there’s no need for you to worry—” 

“Do you mind if I check and strengthen them?” 

Rolanda gave her a glance but Minerva ignored it. She wasn’t taking any chances. 

“Of course, but—” 

Minerva laid a hand on Martha’s knee. “For my own sake, please.” 

Martha just nodded and Minerva stood up, raising her wand and chanting through incantations. Magic flew from the tip of her wand, enshrouding the home and filtering its way into its nooks and crannies. Once she was finished, Minerva sat back down and tucked away her wand. 

“You can’t be too careful now,” she said. “As long as you remain in the house, you will be safe.” 

“Oh, Minerva, don’t worry, they would never come after an old woman like me—” 

“Better safe than sorry, Mum,” Rolanda said and Martha looked a little uncomfortable. Rolanda looked at her and Minerva nodded. “Minerva here is in the war effort with Dumbledore and with her—proximity to me—things could happen.” 

Martha paled and Rolanda quickly rose and pulled her mother into her arms. “There’s nothing to worry about with me and Minerva, here Mum, please don’t fret,” she said quietly and Minerva felt like she was intruding on a private moment. 

“If you need some time—” 

“Oh, please don’t go, Minerva, it’s so wonderful to see that my daughter has found someone that loves her so much,” Martha said, so plainly and matter-of-fact that Minerva wanted to cry.

“Oh Mum.” 

Martha looked at her daughter with a glance that Minerva couldn’t quite decipher. 

“Oh _Mum,_ ” Rolanda repeated, hugging Martha. “How did you—?” 

“Your mother isn’t an idiot, Rolanda,” Martha chided gently. “I knew it from the moment that you stepped through the door. I had suspected for years, really.” 

Rolanda had tears in her eyes and Minerva thought that hers might’ve been burning up a little too. 

“Rolanda, you are my daughter. There is nothing that you could do for me not to love you,” Martha said, with such earnestness and devotion that Minerva wanted to wrap her in her arms and thank her for giving her the greatest gift in her life. “Oh my dear,” she whispered as Rolanda fell into her arms. “Come here,” she said, looking at Minerva. 

Minerva grinned and wrapped them both into her embrace, warm and hopeful and bright. It was like the world had fallen away, the war faded into the darkness, and Minerva was here with the love of her life and her mother, the people she loved and could come to love, as if she was standing at the Astronomy Tower after graduation and the future was at her fingertips. 

When they Apparted back to Hogwarts, Minerva immediately kissed Rolanda, holding onto her tight as they returned to Minerva’s quarters and the fire was blazing and Rolanda was beautiful in the soft flickers of the flames and there were good and true things even if the world was shattering at their feet. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Minerva whispered, cupping Rolanda’s face. 

Rolanda just laughed and kissed her. “Just exist,” Rolanda whispered back and wrapped her in her arms, warm underneath the covers. 

“Before,” Minerva said quietly. “When you wondered about leaving,” she mused. “If you asked, I would go.” 

Rolanda looked at her seriously. 

“Then I wouldn’t ask.” 

Minerva was silent. They fell asleep with the fire burning and the snow just starting to fall. 

She was so deep into marking the essays for her sixth year NEWTs class that she nearly missed the knock on her door. 

“Come in!” she called, not bothering to look up, assuming it was a student. “Have a seat, how may I help yo—”

“Minerva,” Albus said seriously and she snapped her head up. 

Her heart sank when she saw his expression. 

“Albus, what happened?” she asked, quiet. Her hand froze mid-sentence, just hovering over Mary MacDonald’s essay. “Albus,” she pressed as he just sat there, hands clasped together. 

“There was an attack on Caithness,” he replied. 

“Merlin, Albus, I need to go—” 

“Your family is fine,” he said, holding a hand up and pausing her. Minerva fell back into her seat in relief, letting out a great sigh. 

“Oh Merlin, you scared me so bad, Albus,” she said, placing a hand to her chest. She closed her eyes. As Albus didn’t say anything more, she frowned. 

“Albus,” she said slowly. “What happened?” 

“Giants were set on the town,” he explained, looking at her with large, blue eyes that only made her more nervous. 

“Albus—” 

“Dougal McGregor’s farm was destroyed,” he said and Minerva’s heart froze. “He and his family didn’t make it. I’m so sorry, Minerva.” 

Minerva pressed her lips together tightly. Her eyes were burning it. 

“It-it was a long time ago,” she said after a while. “Merlin, I—”

Her voice wavered.

Albus stood up and came around the desk, pulling her into a tight embrace. 

“Merlin, Albus, I’m so sorry—”

“Shhh,” he replied, holding her close as her body shook. “Just because it was a long time ago doesn’t mean it no longer hurts.” 

“Do you think if I’d stayed,” she began, her throat catching. “They could’ve lived, had I done something?” 

“No, Minerva,” he said. “You wouldn’t have been happy and you knew that.” 

Minerva didn’t quite agree but she just nodded. She _could’ve_ been happy with Dougal. It could’ve been enough, if his family had lived. 

“I-I need to see my family,” she whispered, pulling back and wiping her face. Albus nodded. 

“Some of the Order is already there. No casualties on our end, but your family is safe as of the moment.” 

Minerva nodded and patted his chest. “Thank you. I’ll be putting them underneath the Fidelius,” she said, putting on her cloak. Albus patted her on the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry again, Minerva,” he said and Minerva just gave him a curt nod. She hurried down to the gates of Hogwarts and immediately Apparated for her childhood bedroom, appearing with a sharp snap and gave a sigh of relief when she realised that the manse was still intact. She hurried downstairs and found Mother and Papa helping their neighbours on the lawn and Minerva immediately called for them, rushing into Papa’s arms when he turned around. 

“Oh, you’re alright,” she gasped, holding onto him tight, nearly toppling him over. 

“Sure am, lass,” he said with a smile, pulling back and taking a good look at her. “I suppose I should’ve realised it would take a freak accident like this to happen for you to come home,” he quipped, giving her a stern glance and Minerva was so relieved that she wasn’t even bothered by it. 

“You two need to go into hiding,” she said suddenly, after hugging Mother. “It’s too dangerous now.” 

“What do you mean, Minerva?” Papa asked, confused. 

“We’ll talk in inside,” she replied, ushering them both in and once they were in the kitchen, Minerva raised her wand to the window and fixed the debris outside. 

“Papa, our world is at war,” she said succinctly, drawing the drapes magically and setting the couch to right. He frowned. 

“What? Isobel, how could you not mention this—” 

“Mother’s barely involved herself, you guys rarely get _The Prophet_ anyways,” Minerva said offhandedly. “I’m part of a resistance group, against the Death Eaters and Voldemort—”

“Death Eaters?” Papa asked. “What kind of name is that?” 

Minerva, despite the situation, laughed. “That’s what I’ve been asking this whole time,” she replied wryly. “However, this instance with Caithness was due to a giant that was unleashed and—” 

“A giant?” Mother asked, aghast. Minerva nodded. 

“Because I’m involved with the war and of what just happened, I’m going to ask you to trust me,” she said. “I’m going to place the manse underneath the Fidelius Charm,” she said slowly. 

Mother frowned. “Minerva, are you sure? Surely, you can’t expect us to stay at home for the entire war.” 

“Wait, what is this charm, lass?” Papa asked, looking curiously at her. 

“It renders this location completely unfindable. No one will be able to access the manse unless they know the password and the location is entrusted to a ‘Secret Keeper’,” Minerva explained. “I will be your Secret Keeper.” 

“So, we wouldn’t be able to leave at all,” Papa said slowly. Minerva nodded. 

“That would be the only way for the charm to protect you. It protects you within these walls. Outside of it,” she petered off, unwilling to voice her fears. 

“Lass, I’m sure that you have your concerns, but is this _really_ necessary? I mean, not being able to leave—” 

“This is not up for debate,” Minerva said firmly, as if she was reprimanding her students. “I’m not taking any chances. I will speak to Malcolm and Robert after.” 

Mother and Papa both looked at each other. 

“Okay, lass,” Papa said after a while. “We’ll do as you ask.” 

Minerva gave a large sigh and wrapped both of her parents into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

Mother smelled like herbs and soap and Papa smelled like the books in his office. 

“I’m glad you still wear these,” he said, gesturing at her necklace and watch. Minerva smiled. 

“When would I not?” 

“You both have your wands?” Minerva asked worriedly, as Robert and Kathleen dropped off Isobel and Bobbie, Rolanda welcoming them in, taking their coats. “Remember that—” 

“Minerva, it’s just a dinner,” Robert said, putting a hand on her arm. “We’re just heading out for a nip without the kids for once.” 

Minerva gave him a small smile. “I know, I know, it’s just that you really don’t know with these things and with everything that’s going on and you’re leaving the protection of the Charm—” 

She paused, crossing her arms and giving the two of them a stern look. “Just let me worry about my little brother for a second, okay?” 

Kathleen laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “Yes, Professor,” she teased. “We’ll be back before you know it.” 

“Send me a note when you get there?” she asked, hopeful. Robert grinned and gave her a small salute and Minerva closed the door behind them as they left and she ran into the living room where Isobel and Bobbie were playing with some toys that Ro had enchanted to dance around them. Rolanda was sitting in the middle, wand in hand as her niece and nephew laughed. 

The fire was roaring in the hearth and the snow was coming down hard as their Christmas tree twinkled beside it and Minerva raised the flames a little. She tackled Isobel from behind, sneaking up on her and laughing as she shrieked. 

“Aunt Min!” she exclaimed, giggling. “That tickles!” 

“Does it?” Minerva asked, faux-surprised. “What about Bobbie here?” 

“Min-Min!” he shouted, still having difficulties grasping his A’s. Rolanda laughed and smiled at her. Minerva pulled out some storybooks and sat Bobbie and Isobel on each side of her on the couch as she read out _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ as dramatically as possible and Rolanda snorted from the kitchen as she was making dinner. 

“Do we get Christmas gifts, Aunt Min?” Isobel asked as they finished the “The Wizard and the Hopping Pot”. 

“Gifts!” Bobbie said, clapping his hands and looking at Minerva with wide eyes that were almost exactly like her father’s. 

Minerva rolled her eyes but pulled out her wand and summoned two small boxes from upstairs. Both of the children looked at them with glee and Bobbie giggled. Minerva smiled and placed each of the presents into their hands.

“Now, this is a secret from Mummy and Daddy, okay?” Minerva said, faux-whispering and placing a finger over her lips. “These are early gifts—you’ll get more on Christmas Day from Santa Claus!” 

“Yeah!” Bobbie said enthusiastically, almost jumping up and down on the couch. Isobel just leapt into her arms and gave her a bear hug. Minerva patted her back. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

“Hey! You know that I paid for those as well,” Rolanda called from the dining room as she laid out the plates. Isobel just giggled and ran over to Rolanda, hugging her as well. 

“Thank you, thank you, Aunt Ro! We won’t tell, I promise,” she said, tackling Rolanda. Ro just laughed and hugged her back. 

“We should start training you on a broom, young woman,” she said, looking over her head to meet Minerva’s eyes. “We’ll get you winning that Ravenclaw Quidditch Cup in no time,” she joked. Isobel gave a toothy grin. Minerva just huffed. 

“Absolutely not. She’ll be a Gryffindor,” Minerva insisted, though she was smiling. 

“Gfwin-dor!” Bobbie shouted and shoved a thumb in his mouth. Minerva laughed and lifted him into her arms. 

“It’s _Gryffindor,_ darling, but don’t worry, houses don’t matter,” she said, looking at Isobel. “Your aunt and I will love you no matter what,” she said firmly and Isobel just grinned wider and helped Rolanda with setting the table. After, she immediately ripped open her present, which was a beautiful tartan scarf that Minerva had found in a vendor back in Caithness. 

“Thank you, thank you!” she beamed, putting it on right away and Minerva had a good feeling that she’d probably have to talk her out of wearing it to bed. 

“Oh, dear, take that out of your mouth,” Minerva gently chided as Bobbie continued to suck on his thumb. “Here you are,” she said, summoning his pacifier from the bag that Robert and Kathleen had left them. 

He gave her a toothless grin and Minerva bopped his nose with her finger. “Aren’t you the sweetest?” she said, lifting him into the air. He giggled and Minerva’s heart warmed. 

“No, that’s me!” Isobel proclaimed proudly, standing at Minerva’s feet. “I’m the sweetest!” 

Minerva laughed and she patted her shoulder. “Of course you are, dear,” she said and led them to the dining table, where Rolanda was placing the food and Minerva gave her a quick kiss as she placed Bobbie into the high chair. 

After they finished up eating—with surprisingly minimal fuss from Bobbie—Minerva waved her wand and cleaned up the dishes and they all sat around the Christmas tree in the living room and Rolanda was charming the ornaments to dance around the children, who were looking at the shiny baubles with bright eyes.

“Happy early Christmas!” Isobel shouted as Minerva joined them, sitting beside Rolanda who was holding a very sleepy looking Bobbie. 

“Happy Christmas, dear,” Minerva said, pulling her into her lap and hugging her tight. 

“Happy Christmas,” Rolanda said with a grin. “Oh, someone’s looking sleepy,” she said, stroking Bobbie’s hair as he drooled a little onto her shoulder. Minerva glanced at the clock and sat up as well. 

“Come on, it’s bed time. You want to be up bright and early for Mummy and Daddy, right?” Minerva said, grabbing Isobel’s hand and leading them to the guest bedroom that was fixed up with her favourite lavender and toys whenever they stayed over. After Minerva and Rolanda tucked both of them in, with a story for Isobel and a quiet lullaby for Bobbie, they both sat on the couch in front of the fireplace with some wine and a good cigarette. Minerva opened a window very slightly and let the cool winter wind blow in. It was snowing very hard. 

“It looks like we’ll be getting a white Christmas after all,” Rolanda mumbled against her shoulder, as she leaned against Minerva. 

“Mmm,” Minerva hummed. “It sure does.” 

“Did Bobbie open his gift?” she asked, looking underneath the tree. 

Minerva chuckled. “I think he forgot in lieu of his pacifier,” she commented, putting her hand over Rolanda’s. 

Suddenly, as Minerva was just about to refill her glass of wine, as Rolanda was taking another drag, a glowing, white phoenix appeared in their living room and Minerva’s stomach dropped. 

She clutched onto Rolanda’s hand. 

“Attack at Diagon Alley,” the phoenix boomed, opening its mouth and Albus’ voice echoing through the room. Minerva immediately dropped her glass and pulled out her wand. 

“I have to go,” she said, kissing Rolanda quickly. Ro just nodded and kissed her back. “Look after the children, okay?” 

“Don’t I always?” 

Minerva’s face softened. “Yes, you do.” 

Rolanda grinned and gripped her arm just as she was about to Apparate. “Come back to me.” 

Minerva was gone with a crackle and a pop and she reappeared in a small alley where spells were already flying left and right and she spotted Eleanor and Mark shielding off at least four Death Eaters as they stood back to back. 

_“Stupefy!”_

“Oh Minerva! Thank Merlin—” 

_“Confundo!”_

_“Septcumsecptra!”_

Mark screamed as he clutched his right side and slowly started to fall and Minerva almost saw the green light too late—

_“Protego!”_

“MARK!” 

Eleanor sprinted towards her husband and Minerva stunned as many as she could, as she scanned the battle for other Order members—Amelia was firing through with Dorcas right beside her, with Emmeline on the other side with what looked to be a nasty gash down her face, Benjy holding his own against five others—and then with a deafening crackle, the rest of the Order appeared and the Death Eaters were gone like smoke. 

Eleanor was crying and Mark was bleeding out. Minerva ran to them first. 

“Eleanor, get it together, you need to get him to Hogwarts right away,” she scrambled out, shaking her shoulders. “Eleanor! Come on!” 

She nodded, tears in her eyes, and in less than a second, she was gone, Mark with her. Minerva immediately started looking through the restaurants and shops and— 

Jesus Christ, where did Robert and Kathleen go for dinner?

It wasn’t the Alley, it wasn’t, it was somewhere in Sussex, somewhere muggle, they wouldn’t have come to Diagon Alley of all places now, they weren’t that _stupid—_

No. It wasn’t the Alley. 

It _wasn’t_ the Alley. 

Alastor was walking towards her with a grim look on his face. 

It wasn’t the Alley. 

It _wasn’t._

“Minerva,” he said gruffly, limping slightly. 

“No,” she heard herself say. _No, no, no, no._

“Robert was found in the rubble,” he continued. His voice was like sandpaper in her mind. Images of Isobel and Bobbie and Malcolm and Kathleen and Mother and Papa swirled before her. 

It wasn’t. 

“He didn’t make it,” he said. 

Minerva didn’t remember anything after. 

1978 came with a funeral and a cold winter and an even bleaker New Year. Kathleen was in the restroom when the fighting had started and when she’d realised, her husband was already dead. 

Minerva was told that Robert had died from jumping in front of another couple that was dining. 

She didn’t know how much of it was true. 

They were going out for dinner. Isobel and Bobbie were at Minerva and Rolanda’s for dinner. 

Bobbie was barely three. 

He cried loudly at the funeral and Minerva couldn’t blame him. She could only wish that she could say the same. 

Rolanda hugged her tight when they got home and Minerva immediately headed back for Hogwarts because she still had marking to do and Rolanda just nodded silently and brought her tea as she was making her way through the sixth years’ essays. 

The room was frosty but it wasn’t because of the cold. 

Isobel would be coming to Hogwarts in the next two years. 

She didn’t want to think about how Robert would never see it happen. He was so young. Younger than Minerva. 

“I should’ve been there,” she whispered as they laid in bed. Rolanda turned her head and looked at her. “I’m his big sister. I should’ve been there.” 

“I know,” Rolanda whispered back. “But there was nothing you could do.” 

“There must’ve been,” she insisted, staring at the ceiling. “He’s my baby brother,” she whimpered, her eyes burning. “I remember the day he was born. I should’ve been there.” 

Rolanda just held her tight and let her cry into her shoulder. 

“It should’ve been me,” she whispered, her voice thick. 

“Oh _Minerva,_ ” Rolanda said, stroking her hair. “No, Minerva.” 

“It should’ve been me,” she repeated. “I should’ve been there, it should’ve been me—”

“No, Minerva. You can’t think like this,” Ro said, shaking her. “This was because of Voldemort, no one else. This was not your fault.” 

“But—” 

Rolanda sat up, pulling Minerva up with her and stared her right in the eye. “This was not your fault,” she said firmly. “There was nothing you could do.” 

Minerva wiped her eyes, nodding. She didn’t quite believe her but Ro looked at her with such certainty, such belief, that she might’ve been inclined to. Ro just held her. 

Minerva got up the next morning, went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, taught her classes as she watched the snow fall outside and joined Rolanda for lunch and dinner and finished her marking and then dropped by the Ministry for a couple of hours outside of the Minister’s office and then reported to Albus, who asked how she was doing and there was no answer other than “fine” on the tip of her tongue so that’s what she said and there were so many things that she wanted to say, wanted to yell, ask him where the hell _he_ was when her brother was being slaughtered but she was just tired and wanted to go to sleep so she didn’t say anything at all. 

Rinse, rise, and repeat. 

Isobel and Bobbie stopped coming over to visit because the McGonagalls weren’t taking any risks now and all stayed with Mother and Papa at the manse underneath the Fidelius because things were starting to get properly bad, properly awful, like in those books that she read as a child and the accounts of the second World War that she’d grown up in but hadn’t really remembered. Comparisons to the Grindelward times surfaced and everyone whispered that Albus was the man to stop it all, but whenever Minerva stopped by his office, his posture was stooped, hair completely greyed, eyes dark. 

But they had Albus all the same, even if the next time Minerva was in a firefight all she could think about was Robert and how he’d died and how she wasn’t there and it nearly cost her neck and Alastor’s leg. 

Mark had fallen and Eleanor wasn’t there this time and Amelia was fighting for her life and Benjy was clutching at his chest and Minerva was closest and looking back, if she had even missed by half a second, if she hadn’t shot that spell, there would’ve been very little that Poppy would’ve been able to do for him. 

She was covered in his blood when she Apparated to Hogwarts’ gates where Poppy was waiting. 

She Apparated back immediately to the small town on the outskirts of Liverpool, Woodsworth, she believed it was called, and it was Alastor that was in her arms next. Eleanor wasn’t there and when they were all in Albus’ office with a recap for their leader—the leader that also wasn’t at this battle—Minerva watched as Eleanor threw herself at her husband’s bedside and Minerva pried her away when Poppy said that she needed to operate on him and settled her in her office with a cup of tea and a warm shawl. 

“I can’t watch him die,” Eleanor whispered, breaking the silence. 

Minerva wanted to say that he wouldn’t, she wanted to give her reassurance, wanted to tell her that they would live into their old age with grandchildren by the dozen and a family by the thousands. 

But Minerva couldn’t guarantee that so she didn’t say it. 

She laid a hand over Eleanor’s. 

“I know,” she said, because if she’d replaced Mark with Rolanda, it would’ve been the thing she would’ve wanted to hear—if she wanted to hear anything at all, that was. 

“Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Eleanor said, wiping her tears. “Breaking down on you like this.” 

Minerva scoffed. “If there’s a time for losing it, it’s now,” she joked, handing Eleanor a handkerchief. 

“Poppy is one of our best,” she said, because it was the truth. Eleanor nodded.

“My goodness, you’re still covered in blood, let me—” Eleanor said, aghast, looking at Minerva’s robes. Mark’s blood, neither of them said, but they didn’t need to. Minerva thought about Robert and wondered if it would’ve been any better if it was him that she was waiting for in the hospital room. 

It would, she knew. Better sick than dead. Better worried than dead. 

Isobel knew that her father wasn’t coming home, but didn’t know why. Bobbie didn’t seem to quite understand the concept at all. 

Minerva wondered if he would even remember his father, or if he was a figure that she would show him in photo albums, ten years down the line, a stranger that everyone talked about but he never knew.

Who knew if she would even be there ten years in the future. 

Minerva shook herself and nodded as Eleanor raised her wand and cleaned her robes. They still felt dirty, tainted with blood that never should’ve been spilled in the first place. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Minerva said after a while, finishing her tea. “You can stay in my rooms until we hear any news from Poppy.” 

Eleanor frowned, her brow deepening. “Where will you stay?” 

Minerva just gave a tight lipped smile. “Don’t worry about me. Get some rest. You’ll need it. Mark won’t be waking for some time and sleeping in a chair will destroy your back,” she said gently, pulling Eleanor up from the couch and leading her into her private rooms. She raised her wand and rearranged the sheets and hid anything private, of which there wasn’t much of—her home with Rolanda was their cottage, and when she left Eleanor with a soft good night, she Floo-ed to their living room, where Rolanda was still up, smoking. 

“Merlin, it’s late,” Minerva commented, glancing at the clock that pointed to three in the morning. “What are you doing up?” 

Rolanda gasped and immediately pulled Minerva into a tight hug, tighter than she’d ever hugged her, almost dropping the cigarette. 

“Minerva!”

She staggered back a little but patted Ro on the back, looking at her confused. Her stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?” 

“There was a report abo-about a witch killed in a Ministry raid and her identity wasn’t confirmed and I knew that you were out tonight with the Aurors and oh, Minerva—” 

Minerva softened and pulled Ro onto the couch, sitting down. She held onto her hand.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, looking deep into Rolanda’s eyes. “I’m okay.” 

Ro breathed deeply. She looked away, placing a hand over her lips. “What if you weren’t?” 

Her voice quivered. 

Minerva reached up and tilted her face to meet her eyes. “I’m okay, Ro. I’m okay.” 

She leaned in and kissed her softly, like a reassurance, like a promise she couldn’t give because she didn’t know whether or not she could keep it.

“I’m okay,” she repeated. Ro just closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against hers. “I’m okay.” 

Minerva led them to bed and gently tucked Ro in, wrapping her arms around her as they fell asleep to face another day. 

Mark didn’t wake until three days later and Alastor’s face had three more scars and Caradoc Dearborn was still missing. 

Sometimes it really did feel like they were losing the war and Minerva whispered it to Ro on a warm spring evening of 1978 when they were in her rooms at the school because Albus was out on another private mission of his and Minerva was second-in-command of everything except for his secrets.

“Do you ever think about it, leaving?” Ro asked in return, looking at her. 

Minerva sighed and took a drag of her cigarette. “Yes.” 

“We could do it. Just fuck off to Merlin knows where,” Ro said, looking at her sadly. Minerva closed her eyes and leaned back into the couch. 

“I’m glad you’ve never asked,” Minerva said in reply. Ro just smiled. “I miss him so much.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I miss him so much sometimes it aches,” she continued, whispering. “He’s my baby brother.” 

Rolanda just wrapped her arms around Minerva, pulling her close.

“I love you,” was all she said and Minerva forgot about the world for just a second, just a minute, and she wasn’t Deputy Headmistress or Professor or even a member of the Order, she was just Minerva with her partner, the woman she loved more than life itself and the woman that had given her everything. 

She tried to remember this when she was screaming at Albus for allowing the recruitment of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, and Marlene McKinnon. 

“They’re children!” 

“They’re of age,” he said simply. Minerva glared at him and almost raised her wand. 

“They’ve just graduated!” 

“I understand,” Albus replied. “I did not ask.” 

Minerva just scoffed. “That’s because you know you didn’t need to,” she spat, crossing her arms. 

“We’re losing this war, Minerva,” Albus finally said, sitting down in defeat. Minerva still glared at him. 

“We’re not allowing students to fight this Albus,” she said firmly. 

“They’re not students anymore,” Albus said solemnly. “We have no choice.” 

_“You_ have no choice!” 

Her voice was pained. Sharp. 

“I am not allowing this, Albus,” she yelled. “This is not happening.” 

“I think you forget your place, Minerva,” Albus said sternly and Minerva suddenly felt like she was back in Transfiguration class with Amelia beside her. “You allowed Frank and Alice just fine,” he continued. 

Minerva sniffed. “I did not and if my memory serves well, I was not happy with that either,” she said, glaring at him. “Albus, they’re barely eighteen!” 

He just looked at her sadly. “My decision is final.” 

Minerva closed her eyes and sat down heavily in the chair. 

“How badly are we losing?” 

Albus didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to yell at me in the comments ;) if you liked this chapter, leave a comment or a kudo! i love hearing what you think :p


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some canon-typical violence, mentions and descriptions of death, along with some homophobic slurs. this chapter is a darker one, so please proceed with caution.

By the summer of 1978, James Potter and Lily Evans were engaged and Minerva couldn’t have been happier, couldn’t have smiled wider—it was lovely that they were getting some good news for once and she hugged her former students tightly and told Lily to keep James out of trouble. She just joked and said that it was him holding her back and Minerva commented to Albus how old she sometimes felt, with her students marrying left and right. 

“You think you’re getting old, Minerva?” was all he said back and she laughed, the sound echoing through the room Albus had picked for their weekly meetings and Minerva whipped around to see Sirius Black calling her name. 

“Minnie, Jamie here says that you’re going to be at the wedding, so will you be my date?” he called, giving her a dazzling smile and a flip of his hair, shrugging on his leather jacket. Minerva just rolled her eyes and Albus gave her a bright smile. 

As much as she’d hated that half of Order meetings were dominated by her former students—from James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter to Gideon and Fabian, who were much more hardworking when they had a cause to fight for—there was more joy in the air, punctuated by youth and hope and children that were too young to know any better. 

“It’s still ‘Professor’ to you, even if you’ve graduated,” Minerva replied sharply, glaring but not really meaning it. She walked over and smoothed Sirius’ hair into a more gentlemanly fashion. “If you’re looking for a girl, you’ve got to get it together,” she said, giving him a sharp look. Sirius just pouted and crossed his arms as his friends laughed. 

“Yes Mum,” he chirped and Minerva just clipped his ear, even if her heart burst a little and she smiled at the group of them fondly. 

“I expect a good seat at the wedding, Miss Evans,” she said pointedly, looking at the young couple, who were holding hands. 

Lily just laughed. “Of course, Professor,” she replied. James just gave her a salute and Minerva rolled her eyes. As the boys bounded off to do Merlin knew what, Minerva leaned in and whispered in Lily’s ear. 

“It’s Minerva now,” she said, smiling brightly and wondered if she’d married Dougal all those years ago, if her children would’ve been around Lily’s age. Maybe it would’ve been their wedding that she was attending—or more accurately, planning—and she wouldn’t have been party to the war or the Order or any of it in the first place. 

But then she wouldn’t have Rolanda and that was good enough of a trade off. Better than good. 

Lily looked a little surprised, presumably shocked that her upright professor would allow such an improper thing. But she just hugged Minerva tight and Minerva hugged her back. 

“Thank you,” she said, “Minerva.” 

Minerva beamed. “Go on, keep your fiancé in check,” she chided, pushing her towards the group of boys that were dashing spells left and right just like they had in the Great Hall during meals. For just a second, just a moment, Minerva allowed herself to fade the war away, all the tragedy that surrounded them, all the death and the pain and the loss, and watched her students and let herself pretend that they were at their graduation party rather than a secret organization that was losing a hard battle. 

Lily gave her a bright smile and Minerva just watched, wondering if she could bring Rolanda to the wedding—they all needed something happy to look forward to and since Minerva had placed her entire family underneath the Fidelius Charm, she hadn’t seen Isobel or Bobbie or Mother or Papa since Robert’s death just over half a year ago. 

Her heart still ached, but Minerva ignored it. 

Maybe it would stay forever. She’d heard that some losses were like that. She asked Rolanda about it when she got home and nearly collapsed into bed from exhaustion. 

“With my Dad,” she began slowly, staring straight ahead and avoiding Minerva’s gaze. “I couldn’t _not_ think about him at first.” 

Minerva nodded, reaching over and grabbed her hand. 

“It gets easier,” she said, but she sounded unsure. “Over time, it doesn’t necessarily hurt less, but it gets easier. You learn to live with it.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Minerva whispered. Her eyes were burning. 

Rolanda looked at her. 

“You have to,” she said firmly. Minerva sniffed and nodded. “You’re not fucking dying on me, Minerva McGonagall. I’m not allowing it.” 

She sounded so sure. 

“I’m afraid that’s a little beyond your control, love,” she replied softly. 

“It isn’t, because you’re not dying,” Ro replied, voice strong. 

Minerva grabbed a cigarette from the nightstand, lit it, and took a long drag. “There is a very good chance that I won’t survive this war,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

Rolanda looked like she was going to slap her. Minerva didn’t blame her. “No. There is no other option than you living, Minerva,” she repeated. 

Minerva just took another drag and patted her hand. 

“Yes, dear.” 

Ro leaned her head on her shoulder as Minerva finished her cigarette. She started to sing quietly and Minerva fell asleep to the sound of her partner’s voice.

She thought about her students’ happiness and the importance of this fight for the next generation, for the Isobels and Bobbies to come, for their children and their children after them and the ones she was never able to have. 

They should’ve realised that their joy was too good to be true.

Minerva was delivering groceries and other necessities to the Bones’ family—Edgar Bones, his wife Camellia, and three young children, Ellie, Jacob, and Krista, who were all nine, seven, and three respectively. The Bones had gone into semi-hiding at the insistence of Amelia and Minerva mainly, as they were a family and Edgar had made himself a target within the past couple of years—even more so than his sister, which was a feat in and of itself. 

Even though Minerva had advocated for the protection of the Fidelius Charm, Amelia and Edgar had thought it was too much trust in one person and even if Minerva could see where they were coming from, she wasn’t entirely sure that even all the wards in the world could overcome to the power of the Fidelius. 

“Oh goodness, you’re a bit early Minerva,” Camellia said, rushing her in. Minerva just gave her a small smile. 

“Right on time, though I can see that you’re busy,” she said, giving small Krista a wave, who was clutching onto her mother’s leg. “Where should I put these?” 

“Just on the counter’ll be fine,” she said hurriedly. Minerva set the bags in the kitchen and knelt down to coax Krista from her mother’s leg. 

“Follow your Aunt Minerva, wouldn’t you, dear? She’s got lots of cool magic to show you,” Camellia said, sorting through the things that Minerva had brought. Minerva just laughed and silently waved her wand, a stream of bright rainbow colours leading into the living room. 

Krista giggled and immediately chased after the lights, her laugh infectious. 

Minerva chuckled herself and helped Camellia unpack the groceries. “How are you?” she asked, because the witch was looking rather haggard and well, it was wartime. Sometimes questions like this were asked too often without much meaning. 

“Oh, you know, this and that,” she replied off-handedly. “Edgar is thankfully home at the moment, he’s with Ellie and Jake right now, but we just never know when he’s going to be called again and sometimes I wish that I could be of more help but with the kids—” she rambled, suddenly cutting herself off and wiping her hands on her apron. “Merlin, I’m just dumping all of this on you—” 

Minerva reached over and grabbed her hand. “No worries,” she said breezily. “It’s hard on everyone.” 

Camellia straightened her dress and looked at her with a smile. “Goodness and I’ve completely forgotten to offer you a drink. Anything? Perhaps a nip of whiskey?” 

Minerva laughed and shook her head. “Thank you, but I must get going. Albus needs me back at the castle,” she said, standing up. 

“Of course, of course, thank you for coming by. It’s so nice to see someone else’s face other than my family’s for once,” she joked, leading Minerva to the door. Minerva just grinned and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek. 

“Take care and please don’t work yourself to the bone,” she said. Camellia raised an eyebrow. 

“I should say the same to you,” she quipped and Minerva chuckled. 

“You’re right there,” she said and wave her one last wave as she stepped out the door. 

She was a second too late. 

She should’ve noticed something. It was so _obvious._ Should’ve seen it coming. 

A dark figure appeared in the corner of her eye and Minerva’s wand was already out and had sent five Patronuses to the Order. 

She was too slow. 

_“Fiendfrye!”_

She leapt from the doorstep of the Bones’ home as figures Apparted all around her, their silver masks glinting in the flames.

Merlin—

The fire. 

The flames. 

It was nothing like she’d ever seen in her life and she stupidly remembered reading in her textbook about how _Fiendfrye_ was impossible to tame and nearly impossible to perform. Well. Not so nearly-impossible now. 

She felt herself running towards the house, screaming Camellia’s name, screaming the children’s names, screaming Edgar’s name until something yanked her back and there was a wand against her throat. 

There was a hand gripping her waist. Hard. 

She couldn’t look at the fire. 

The hand grabbed her face and forced it towards the burning home. 

“Watch,” the man hissed. Minerva squirmed but whatever was holding her back, magic or otherwise, was too strong. _“Watch.”_

There were yells from inside. Screams. 

They were high-pitched and indistinguishable from another. 

The screaming didn’t stop. 

Smoke filled her lungs.

The man prodded the wand deeper into her throat and Minerva wanted to curse herself for being so foolhardy, so stupid, for dropping her guard just because she thought she was doing a fucking grocery run of all things but all she could think about was Amelia’s brother in that house, Amelia’s sister-in-law, Amelia’s nieces and nephew, the _children,_ oh God the _children—_

Minerva sobbed but she couldn’t hear it above the screaming. 

“Shut up,” the man hissed as she lurched forward. Merlin, where was the Order?

Minerva didn’t listen. 

_“Crucio!”_

There was no word to describe the pain. It was like the hurt and grief and loss inside of her had burrowed up and manifested its way into some sick version of torture. 

She thought she was screaming but she couldn’t tell if it was hers or Edgar’s or Camellia’s or Ellie’s or Jacob’s or the barely three year old Krista’s that she had just seen a minute ago, just performed a magical spell for. 

Suddenly, the pain stopped and Minerva collapsed to the ground. Someone yanked her up by the arm and she struggled to stand. 

“Merlin, Minerva, what the fuck happened?” Dorcas asked, glaring at her. Minerva’s throat was dry. 

“I—” 

“There isn’t time now,” she snapped, putting up a shield charm and stunning a Death Eater to their right. 

The screaming had stopped. 

The house was still burning. 

And there was someone running towards the fire. 

They were screaming. 

Minerva recognized her loose brown hair immediately. 

She didn’t know how or why or what proceeded her to run right to Amelia, but right before the flames licked at their feet, she flung her arms around Amelia’s waist and pulled her back, Amelia’s anguished wails echoing in Minerva’s ears. 

She just held her as Amelia lurched forwards. 

“You have to let me go! You have to let me fucking go!” she screamed. Minerva didn’t say anything. “Let me—let me save my brother, _MINERVA—”_

Minerva just clutched onto her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said into her ear. “I’m so sorry.” 

"EDGAR—" Amelia struggled against her, writhing. "You have to let me get to Edgar, please, please, _EDGAR—"_

Amelia’s sobs filled the air and Minerva slowly pulled them back, away from the flames. 

She saw the rest of the Order Apparate to the scene, including James and Lily and Sirius, but she couldn’t care, couldn’t hear anything in her mind than the wails of the Bones’ family, Amelia included. 

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

Amelia screamed until she ran out of breath and the fire had been extinguished and Minerva had fallen into the soft grass and held the woman that she had loved first in life and the woman that was one of her best friends and the woman that had shown her how to fly.

They were firmly on the ground. 

The months following the Bones’ murders were solemn. It was the largest loss the Order had seen and the greatest the wizarding community had experienced—or at least, according to The Prophet, which, as of late, was becoming less and less reliable. Minerva was hesitant to trust anything other than a Patronus from Albus at this point.

Minerva went back to her job. To teaching. What else could she have done? Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain at this point and nothing was going to bring Edgar and Camellia and Ellie and Jacob and Krysta back. 

There weren’t even bodies to bury. 

Amelia, with Emmeline by her side and her younger sister, Bell and her husband, were in the front row along with her parents, whom Minerva hadn’t seen since her childhood. 

When she reached Amelia at the front, she was speechless. There was nothing to say. 

She went home to Rolanda and asked her if any of it was even worth it, if anything they were doing was even helping, if entire families could be slaughtered in the middle of the night, if Minerva was even fucking useful, if only she’d seen them sooner, if only she’d moved quicker, if only, if only, if only. 

Rolanda just brushed her hair from her eyes and didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Anyways, what was there to say? 

Her students seemed younger than ever—even the sixth and seventh years, once all so eager and now her muggleborn students were coming to her during Careers sessions with no plans for their futures because they couldn’t see one. Minerva wished that she could tell them that there was one. 

She always waited until after they’d left for the tears to fall. 

“Minerva?” 

There was a knock on her office door and Albus peeked his head in. “May I come in?” 

Minerva just sighed and waved hand, straightening her desk and sitting up straight. “What can I do for you, Albus?” 

“Help me with this 1956 scotch,” was all he said, falling into the seat across from her and conjured two heavyset glasses. 

“Gladly,” Minerva replied with a small smile. She carefully studied him, noticing the ever-growing creases around his eyes and the weight on his shoulders that never seemed to leave. “How are you?” she asked, as he poured the drink. 

“Peachy keen,” he said flatly. Minerva just nudged his leg with her foot from under the desk. “Dreadful dear, but let’s talk about something else, shall we?” 

Minerva nodded and pulled out a cigarette from her desk, lighting it. Albus frowned. 

“When in Merlin’s pants did you pick up that habit?” 

Minerva just raised an eyebrow. Albus sighed and took a sip of his drink. “There are days where I think this will go on for ages,” he said. “And then there are days where I believe that it could be over tomorrow.” 

He paused. 

“The latter have become more and more scarce.” 

“Mhm.” 

Minerva nearly gulped down the entire glass, wincing slightly as it burned down her throat. 

“Well, it’s 1978 and we’re constantly worried about the people we love, so let’s drink to that,” Minerva quipped, sitting up and raising her glass. 

Albus gave her a sad smile but clinked his drink with hers and they drank in silence for the rest of the light, watching the flames in Minerva’s hearth slowly dwindle and the night grow darker and colder. 

Fall quickly rushed into winter and Minerva’s hands were always freezing. Rolanda made a joke about how she was her personal heater and Minerva just laughed. 

“The women that I have loved have always been warm,” she said after a while, quiet, almost like a confession. 

Ro just nudged her with her shoulder. “Good to know that you have a type,” she joked. 

Minerva closed her eyes and laughed softly. 

“Y’know, you two went through the same thing,” Ro said. “Maybe that’s something that could help her.” 

Minerva’s eyes snapped open. “How did you know—?” 

Ro just smiled softly and chuckled. “I love you. You think I wouldn’t know?” 

Minerva just curled up against her. 

Minerva and Rolanda were in the third row at Lily and James’ wedding and Minerva had her handkerchief in her left hand and her right clasped tightly with Rolanda’s as she watched her students exchange their vows. 

It was a beautiful and bright Christmas morning, a well-deserved respite from all the darkness and loss and death that seemed to surround them. Almost everyone in the Order was invited—partly for security reasons, partly because no one could refuse the offer of free alcohol—along with some closer family and friends and when James swept her away from Rolanda and onto the dance floor, Minerva couldn’t help but laugh and hold him quietly that she was very proud of him. 

“Though that remains between you and me, young man,” she said sternly as he expertly led them through the waltz. James just puffed up his chest and gave her a cheeky grin that she always saw when she just almost caught him in the middle of a prank. 

“Whatever you require, Professor,” he replied cheekily and Minerva just slapped his shoulder. 

“It’s Minerva now, but don’t ever tell Black that,” she said, giving him a warm smile. 

James just threw back his head and laughed. “Scout’s honour,” he said, twirling her and kissing her hand politely as they finished the dance. 

“Your parents are incredibly proud of you tonight,” Minerva said, patting his arm. He was a good head taller than her now—had been for nearly two years, now. “You’ve grown into a wonderful young man.”

James’ cheeks went red and Minerva just laughed. “Don’t go doing anything stupid, okay?” she said gently, as Sirius came around and dragged him away by the arm. Sirius gave her a wink and Minerva rolled her eyes. She headed towards the bar, where Rolanda was sitting, chatting with Augusta but someone cut her off, bowing. 

“May I have this dance, Minerva?” Frank asked brightly, smiling. Minerva grinned and took his hand. 

“I was wondering when my often-absent godson was going to show up,” she quipped as he led them back onto the dance floor. 

Frank’s ears went red—just like his father’s—and he scratched the back of his head. 

“You know how Moody trains us,” he said, looking Minerva in the eye. She just shook her head. 

“If you weren’t in this ridiculous organization to begin with, you wouldn’t have that issue,” she pointed out, but her tone was light. Frank rolled his eyes. 

“Mum already harps on me about that,” he sighed. “Though getting married may have placated her just a little.” 

“The small wedding didn’t,” Minerva joked and Frank laughed loudly and in that moment, he sounded just like Augusta had when Amelia and Minerva were teasing her about her newest beau, all those years ago. 

Frank was a good head and a half taller than her at this point and from what Minerva had heard—she had yet to actually see him in battle—he had faced Voldemort once already and she was sure that it wasn’t to be the last. A swell of pride squished alongside a great deal of worry and grief bloomed in her chest. 

“Are you alright?” he asked gently as Minerva shook herself out of her thoughts. She must’ve been completely out of the world. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“Just thinking, dear,” she replied. “You’ve grown up so well. I remember chasing after you on your beginning broom when you were nothing more than a wee barm,” she said warmly. 

Frank blushed and his ears went even redder. 

“Your mother may harp, but she’s just worried, dear,” Minerva continued. Frank nodded. 

“I know.” 

“You’re just all so young,” she said, trying to keep the pain from her voice. 

“It’s what we have to do,” Frank replied, standing up straighter. “This is as much my fight as it is yours, Aunt Min,” he said. 

Minerva reached over and straightened his lapel, sighing. “I know.” 

“I know you worry, but haven’t you also thought that we worry too? Don’t think that I haven’t heard about all the fights you’ve been picking lately,” he said, almost sternly. Minerva paused a little, taken aback. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Longbottom,” she said haughtily. He chuckled but leaned in closer. 

“Be careful, Aunt Min,” he said and Minerva’s heart warmed. “We can’t lose you.” 

“If only you’ll do the same,” Minerva said as they finished the dance and Alice came up to their side. Frank nodded and Minerva pulled him in for a hug, holding him tight. 

“Mind if I cut in, Professor?” Alice asked, taking Frank’s hand. Minerva bowed slightly and stood back. 

“That’s Minerva to you, my dear, as I’ve told you countless times. I can’t have my godson’s wife calling me professor,” she quipped, squeezing Alice’s arm. She watched as the young couple danced happily, as the music changed and she could hear Sirius’ drunken hollers in the background. She joined Rolanda, Amelia, and Albus at the bar. 

“A little queer reunion we have here, huh?” she joked, ordering a Firewhiskey from Aberforth at the bar. Albus laughed and Amelia punched her in the shoulder.

“Look at our Min, out here making gay jokes,” Amelia teased. “She’s come a long way,” she said, faux-whispering into Rolanda’s ear, who just chuckled. Minerva just rolled her eyes and took a sip of her Firewhiskey. 

“Haven’t we all?” Albus said, holding up his glass. “A toast, to our lovely newlyweds.” 

“To Lily and James,” Minerva said, clinking her drink with the others. “May they live a long and happy life.” 

“Merlin, Minerva, you make it sound like their hundredth birthday,” Rolanda teased, bumping her hip. 

“She makes a good point, however,” Albus said. “I hope I can say the same for the rest of us as well.” 

The mood dropped immediately, even if Albus’ eyes were twinkling and they were at a wedding and the music was loud and the lights were bright and Minerva was here with Rolanda. 

Minerva and Rolanda went home sometime after midnight, both a little drunk but not too much and they fell into bed together and Minerva told her over and over and over again that she loved her and loved her and loved her.

“I know, you idiot,” Rolanda replied, kissing her lightly on the nose. “You should get tipsy more often.” 

Minerva gave a very uncharacteristic giggle and pulled Rolanda close, kissing her hard. 

“I love you too,” Rolanda said against her lips. 

“We should get married,” Minerva said suddenly. Rolanda sat up and frowned. 

“Minerva, you know we—”

“I don’t care,” she said, holding onto Ro’s hand. “Ro, let’s get married.”

“Minerva,” she replied quietly. 

“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Minerva said. “Marry me.”

Ro looked at her softly. 

“Okay.” 

Minerva kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. 

Minerva and Rolanda were married on the cold winter day of 7 January, 1979, as the New Year came and went, in a very, very small ceremony that didn’t include either of their families because well, this was war and they were all tucked into hiding, safe and snug. 

Albus married them in their backyard with Amelia, Augusta, Emmeline, Frank and Alice, and she wished that Mother was here, that Papa could’ve seen his little girl get married, but these were harrowing times and Minerva wasn’t risking anything more than she needed to. 

They exchanged rings that Ro picked up a couple days after Minerva’s proposal, teasing her that Minerva should’ve been the one to buy them, since you were the one who asked, Minerva, she quipped. 

Minerva just laughed and told her it was because she needed to be in the castle and couldn’t make a quick trip down to Diagon Alley. She told Ro to be careful and now she was standing before her in magnificent light green robes that she had altered slightly and left her hair down, like Ro had made her do all those years ago when they were first together. 

Albus smiled the brightest Minerva’d ever seen him that day and his eyes twinkled. He winked at Minerva when she reached the altar, rearranging her robes nervously, but she had no eyes for anyone but Ro.

Rolanda was beautiful.

She was dressed in a perfectly tailored pinstriped black suit with gold embellishments and Minerva thought she was the most handsome woman in the world as they stood in the white ground, the snow falling lightly. 

Ro’s hand was warm as she took Minerva’s. 

Minerva barely heard Albus speak. 

“As you all know, neither Minerva or I are ones with words, but if just for today, you will forgive me, my love,” Ro said, beginning her vows. “I don’t think I have loved you since the day I met you”—Minerva heard Amelia snicker and Augusta laugh—“but it was pretty close.” 

Ro paused, looking right into Minerva’s eyes. “I have been lucky to love a great deal throughout my life,” she continued and Minerva blinked hard. “But the greatest blessing I have ever received was my ability to love you, Minerva.” 

She sniffed. 

“And it is so very easy to love you, my darling,” Ro said smiling. “Easier than some people might think,” she added, as the crowd laughed. “When you asked me to marry you, I thought you were mad. But I could not be happier today to place this ring on your finger.” 

Rolanda raised her hand and gently slid on the gold band. 

“You have given me everything I have ever wanted,” Ro said. Minerva’s smiled wavered but she held on tightly. “I love you.” 

“I suppose it’s my turn,” Minerva joked as Ro finished. Laughter filled the air. “When we first met, I was still moping over a breakup with ever-annoying Amelia”—Amelia cackled and out of the corner of her eye she saw Augusta nudge her in the ribs—“and I found your company, well, for lack of a better word, rather sapphic.” 

Ro grinned. 

“You barged into my life and tore everything I knew down and you changed everything. It sounds rather dramatic, but Ro, you’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before we go to bed.” 

Minerva paused, looking down at their hands. 

“I owe you everything. You have taught me everything from how to properly smoke a fag to how to love beyond abandon.” 

Ro’s eyes sparkled. 

“I want to be everything to you,” she continued. “Your past, present, and your future. We have had such a beautiful life together and I never want it to end. I don’t want it if you’re not there with me.” 

Minerva held out Ro’s hand and carefully slipped the ring onto her fourth finger. 

“There are not enough words in the English language to describe how much I love you, but these shall have to do,” she said as Ro blinked hard. 

“And with that, I bid you married,” Albus said without missing a beat. “You may kiss the bride.” 

There were fireworks or spells or something because a sound boomed and there were sparks in the sky and Minerva leaned in and kissed Rolanda like she had before, like she had for most of her life, like she always had and like she always would. 

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against Ro’s. 

Ro grinned. “I love you too, you sappy idiot.” 

Minerva glared at her. “Your vows were worse,” she quipped and Ro just laughed. 

“My wife,” she said quietly, holding Minerva close. “My wife.” 

Being married didn’t change much—they still came home from work with a kiss on the cheek and sometimes they were at the cottage or at the castle but it didn’t really matter for Minerva because as long as she was with Rolanda she was fine with it and Minerva was just as, if not more, dedicated to her job than ever because there were only so many things that could take her mind off the war and as of right now—and hopefully forever—Hogwarts remained untouched by the darkness that seemed to follow them everywhere. 

Minerva supposed that maybe, that was asking just a little too much. 

Two months after she was married, Minerva found herself in the firefight once again, dodging spells left and right as she gasped with her breath in her throat and Amelia strong, steady beside her. 

As she watched Eleanor scramble to hold Mark up across the battlefield—of which this time was a literal field, since Emmeline was on patrol right on the outskirts of England, somewhere near Hastings. Minerva could see the Channel to her left, where the water was churning against the harsh wind. 

She placed up a spell to avoid the weather, leaning against Amelia as they fended off Death Eater after Death Eater, hex after hex after curse after curse. 

_“Stupefy!”_

_“Cruico!”_

Minerva barely missed that one and she prayed that reinforcements were coming because more and more Death Eaters started to show up and she wondered why the hell were they raging war in God-knew-where? 

London would’ve been more logical. The Ministry, even. Hell, even Hogwarts. 

Minerva’s arm was cramping and she couldn’t even register what she was saying, nevermind what she was casting. It was spell after spell after spell. 

Like clockwork. 

Until he showed up and Minerva was nearly blown back in a giant blast at his arrival. Voldemort had changed very little since the last time she’d seen him. His pale, almost alabaster skin nearly glowed in the gloomy clouds and his eyes were a glittering ruby red. Minerva immediately recoiled, sending an array of hexes towards him. 

He deflected them with ease and just smirked, holding his wand lazily and walking slowly towards them. Minerva gripped onto Amelia’s arm and told her to stand behind her. Amelia just scoffed and if it was a different situation, Minerva would’ve rolled her eyes, but it was not a different situation and she just raised her wand again. 

“Professor McGonagall,” he said, voice silky, mocking her. “Dumbledore’s second-in-command,” he continued, staring her right in the eye. “Ah, clearly Dumbledore’s been keeping secrets.” 

Minerva stared at him, shocked. Had he read her thoughts? Her mind? 

“Yes, it is a very useful skill, you must understand, Minerva,” he said, grinning, his mouth stretching out into something resembling a smile. Minerva gasped and nearly stumbled. He just laughed, high-pitched and shrill. “And our dear Professor is bedding a woman, hm?” 

Minerva shot another spell at him. He just raised his hand. 

“Could you blame me? With men like you?” 

He sneered and raised his wand. “There’s no place in the world for queers like you,” he snapped, coming closer and closer. Minerva placed up an invisible shield charm. “What about your friend here, hm?” 

Minerva shot spell after spell. One of them clipped at his arm and she smiled a little, slightly satisfied. 

“What about her?” Minerva snapped, dodging left and right as she caught her breath. 

_“Crucio!”_

She didn’t miss that one. 

Amelia was holding her up, she knew, just logically. Other than that, she wasn’t sure what the hell was happening other than the fact that her nerves were on fire and she thought she heard herself whisper something about telling Rolanda that she loved her but she wasn’t sure. 

Then, it stopped, almost as quickly as it began. 

Her body was sprawled out in front of her and someone—Amelia—was clutching onto her by the arms. 

“You know,” Voldemort said, twirling his wand between his long, white fingers. “Mudbloods and the like, don’t have much of a taste for them. But I never really liked dykes or fags either.” 

He sneered and raised his wand again but this time Minerva was quicker and a blue shield appeared in front of them and she could feel Amelia’s breath on her shoulder and was just going to Apparate—

He said something that Minerva didn’t quite catch and she remembered the charm breaking but she also remembered thinking that she was fast enough but looking back maybe she wasn’t and Amelia was shouting in her ear and shaking her and there were lights all around her and and and— 

She woke up to the scent of Cleaning spells and a very bright room and someone holding onto her hand. 

_Everything_ hurt. 

“Minerva?” a voice asked quietly, holding onto her tighter. She just groaned, holding an arm up over her eyes. 

“Ro?” 

“Merlin, you gave us all a scare—” 

Minerva just groaned again, pressing against her ribs. “Wh-what happened?”

“You got bloody blown up, that’s what happened,” Rolanda growled, pulling the blankets up higher. “Merlin, if you’re going to scare me like this again, give me at least two weeks notice?”

Ro was joking but her voice wavered. 

“Okay,” Minerva mumbled, closing her eyes. 

The next time she woke up Ro wasn’t there but Mother was and Minerva remembered a little more and she shot up in the bed until Mother pushed her down, tutting. 

“I need to speak to Albus—” 

“No, you don’t,” Mother replied firmly, readjusting her pillows. “I’d rather not see my daughter in the grave the next time I see her.” 

“Mother—” 

Minerva blinked. 

“What on Earth are you doing here? You need to go back right now, you know how dangerous it is—” 

Mother cut her off with a finger over her mouth. 

“Idiot child. You think I wouldn’t be here right now?” she said, nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in her sheets. “My daughter was nearly—”

Minerva reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Mother cleared her throat. 

“Nevermind. The fact is that you are seriously injured and your Papa wishes that he could be here right now, but—” 

“We’re at Hogwarts,” Minerva finished, looking down at their hands. “You should get back as soon as possible.” 

Mother stared her down and Minerva just sighed and pinched her nose bridge. “Mother—” 

“This is not up for debate, dear,” she replied calmly, sitting back. She ran a finger over Minerva’s ring. “When did this happen?” 

Minerva blushed and looked away. “Beginning of the year,” she replied quietly. 

“I wish you’d told me,” Mother replied. “I didn’t see an invitation in the mail, Minerva.” 

She could feel Mother’s gaze on her and felt like she was back in sixth year being scolded for studying too late. 

“It was a very, _very_ small ceremony,” Minerva explained. “You know how it is, there was no way we could’ve had the proper security—” 

“I would’ve liked to have seen you get married, Minerva,” Mother cut her off. “You shouldn’t be hiding this—” 

“Mother, I don’t have a say in that matter!” Minerva nearly shouted, throwing up her hands. “You think I don’t want to shout my vows off of the roofs of Hogwarts?” 

Mother paused, frowning. “Minerva—” 

“We both decided that this wouldn’t reach Papa’s ears. You think you could keep this from him?” 

Mother looked at her sadly. “I have kept a great deal from your father, my dear. I may not be in this war of yours, but I have lived through one.” 

Minerva froze, biting her lip. She looked down at her hands. “Merlin, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” 

“I know you didn’t, my dear,” Mother replied, giving her a sad smile. Suddenly, Minerva just realised how frail Mother looked, how the years had taken their toll and she reached over and grabbed her hand again. 

“How are you?” she asked. 

“Well, my daughter nearly died,” Mother quipped, but her smile widened and Minerva, albeit painfully, leaned over and pulled her into a gentle hug, the scent of Mother’s soap and her childhood home wafting over her so much that Minerva’s eyes burned up. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

“Where else would I be?” 

Minerva returned back to the cottage a couple days after, with strict orders from Poppy to take it easy, of which she just rolled her eyes and Rolanda glared at her all the way home. 

Just as she had seated herself at the dining table, their fireplace’s flames burned green and Albus stepped through, dusting at his robes. Minerva just raised her eyebrow and Rolanda told them that she would be in the restroom. 

“What took you so long? Amelia and Emmeline and Dorcas have all been marvelously tight-lipped about anything that happened during—” 

“They did so because I asked them to,” Albus said quietly, sitting down across from her and conjuring two cups of tea, gesturing for her to take one. Minerva took a small sip. 

“Albus, what the hell happened—” she paused, her jaw dropping open. A hand covered it. “Albus, did someone—?” 

“Benjy was murdered,” Albus said solemnly. 

Minerva blinked rapidly and the room was silent bar the ruffling of feathers of the two owls they owned. 

“H-how did it happen?” 

“Are you sure you want to know?” 

Minerva sat up straight and pulled herself together. “Yes, I do, Albus.” 

He looked her carefully in the eye. “Death Eaters Roiser and Wilkes cornered him. He held up a good fight until they managed to disarm him. He was tortured and then spliced into pieces.” 

Minerva didn’t say anything. She _couldn’t_ say anything. 

“There wasn’t enough of a body left for a burial. His wife has decided on a cremation. It’ll be next week,” he said calmly, looking at his tea. Minerva closed her eyes.

“And his family?”

“They’ll be placed underneath Order protection.” 

“Is there anything else?” 

“Hm?” 

“Anything else that happened.” 

Albus paused and stirred at his tea. 

“Alastor was also injured. He lost his leg, but the Healers at St. Mungo’s were able to fix him up well enough.” 

“You sent him to St. Mungo’s?” Minerva asked, aghast. There were very few places that could be trusted and unfortunately, the hospital no longer fell into that category. Albus’ eyes flashed for a second. 

“Poppy was busy with you, so yes, I sent him to St. Mungo’s,” he said, setting his mug down with a thud. Minerva avoided his gaze and looked at the table. 

She cleared her throat. “Okay. I can give you my report tomorrow,” she said coldly. 

Albus nodded and stood up, smoothing out his robes. He looked at her over his spectacles with a piercing glance. 

“Get better soon, Minerva. We need you.” 

“You or the Order?” 

“Both.” 

He left with a flourish of green flames and purple robes and Minerva was left in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea. Ro peeked her head from out of the corner. 

“I need you too, Minerva,” she said quietly, walking up behind her and placing her arms around her. She was warm. Minerva closed her eyes and leaned back against her. 

“I need you too,” she replied. 

“I thought I lost you.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_ lose you.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Come to bed?”

“Okay.” 

“You’re pregnant?” Minerva asked, her jaw dropping and beaming. Frank smiled brightly and pulled Alice closer. “Oh, congratulations, oh my goodness, this is such wonderful news!” 

“Thank you, Minerva,” Alice said, placing a hand on her arm and squeezing it. “We expect many visits.”

“I expect many invitations!” 

They both laughed and Minerva pulled them in for a hug, holding onto Frank tightly. 

“You’ve told your mother, right?” she asked, stepping back. Frank rolled his eyes. 

“Of course; do you think I’m crazy?” 

“Sometimes, my dear,” Minerva replied with a grin. “I’m surprised I don’t hear her shouting from the rooftops right now.” 

“Don’t worry, she’s buying baby clothes as we speak,” Frank said, laughing. 

“Go on, don’t let me keep you,” Minerva said as Alice looked around the room. She went deep red. “Spread the news a little. It’ll bring us all some good.” 

They both smiled and joined Sirius and Remus at the other end of the room and Minerva just rolled her eyes, sitting down with Dorcas, Emmeline, Amelia, and Eleanor. 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Emmeline commented, patting Minerva’s hand. 

“It is—wait, were you told before me?”

“Frank was looking for you the entire way through. That’s what you get for showing up late,” Dorcas joked and Minerva threw her hands up in the air in faux-exasperation. 

“The one time I’m late,” she lamented, even though she was laughing. 

“It’s also the one time that I’m better than Min at something, so there’s that too,” Amelia joked. 

“Really, how so?” 

“Being late,” Amelia quipped and they all laughed, with Eleanor summoning a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine. 

“To the next generation,” she said, pouring it out. 

“Hear, hear!” 

“Our children and their children and their children after them.”

“The next generation,” they all chorused, clinking their glasses. Eleanor’s eyes misted a little and Emmeline and Amelia’s hands together on top of the table and Dorcas gave her a wink and Minerva bathed in the warmth and comfort it all, listening to the loud whoops and yells of Sirius and James. 

Two weeks later, Lily and James showed up in her office after her classes on a warm October evening and told her that they were expecting and Minerva nearly dropped the textbooks she was holding in shock. 

“My goodness! Congratulations, you two,” she said, pulling them both in for a hug. 

“Merlin, if this was all it took for Minnie here to give me her love we should’ve done this sooner, Lils!” James joked, patting Lily on the head. She just glared at him. 

“I apologize for the ruckus that is my husband,” she said, smiling. Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I am well aware of it,” she commented. James just placed a hand on his chest, clearly pretending to be offended. “You will be wonderful parents.” 

“Thank you,” Lily replied, somewhat nervously. “Though this isn’t the best time—” 

“Nonsense,” Minerva said firmly. “You want this child, right?” 

Lily nodded. “Yes. I do.” 

“Then there is no better time,” she said. 

“Ah, I knew our Professor would back me up,” James teased and Minerva just scoffed.

“Oh how the stars align,” she teased, reaching up and ruffling his hair. “Your child will be very lucky indeed.”

“Do you have children, Minerva?” 

“By the hundreds,” she replied with a gentle smile.

“Okay _Mum,”_ James snipped and Minerva just clipped his ear. 

“Now, off you go, I’m sure you have better things to do than bother your old Transfiguration professor,” she said, shoo-ing them out of her office. “Congratulations again,” she added, her smile beaming. 

Lily gave her a hug and James a kiss on the cheek and she watched as her two former students walked down the halls and if she didn’t know any better, she could’ve mistaken them for seventh years. 

When Minerva arrived home that evening, she sank into the couch with a cigarette in hand and listened to Ro sing as she made dinner in the kitchen. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ro asked, coming up behind her and placing her hands on her shoulders. 

“Do I need to be thinking about something?” Minerva answered, looking up at her. 

“No, but I know that look on your face,” Ro replied, sitting down beside her. 

“Lily Potter is pregnant,” she said, taking a long drag. Ro’s face softened. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Merlin, that child will be at Hogwarts around the same time as Frank and Alice’s,” she commented. “Glad you’ll probably have to deal with most of that nightmare,” she teased. 

“I wish I could’ve given that to you,” Minerva said quietly, smoking. Ro plucked the cigarette out of her hands and extinguished it. 

“My life has not been lesser without children, Minerva,” Ro said seriously. “And I know that yours hasn’t been either.” 

Minerva closed her eyes and leaned her head against Ro’s shoulder. 

“You’re right,” she said after a while. “You would’ve been a wonderful mother.”

“In another life,” Ro lamented and Minerva just nodded. She ran a finger over Ro’s ring. 

“Mhm. Another life,” Minerva mused. “I want hundreds of lifetimes with you.”

“Me too.”

Minerva smiled and kissed her softly. 

“Come on, dinner’s ready,” Ro said, pulling her up from the couch. 

They sat down at the table and ate in silence and then she did the dishes while Ro sang along to the radio and it was raining now, quietly pittering and pattering against the windows. 

As the rain fell harder, an owl swooped in through into the kitchen, ruffling its feathers and flicking water everywhere. 

It was clutching a small note. Minerva told Ro to grab it. 

“What is it? Don’t tell me it’s Albus telling me to finish the reports for the Ministry again, because I already did them for the last term—” 

“Minerva, Dorcas was murdered.” 

The radio was silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to yell at me in the comments ;) let me know what you thought! we're slowly coming to the end of part two and this bit of minerva's journey.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some canon-typical violence, mentions and description of death, along with implications at sexual assault.

Minerva scanned her copy of _The Prophet_ at breakfast, smiling slightly when she read that Harold Minchum had resigned and a new election would be taking place shortly. Rumours of his possible departure had been swirling for months, as the Ministry was becoming less and less proficient at dealing with the war. At this point, the Auror Department, still headed by Alastor, was operating underneath the complete command of the Order instead of the government and Hogwarts had become a pillar of strength, of peace, even if Minerva had adamantly kept Order business away from it. 

She wouldn’t be putting any more students at risk. 

However, at the same time, she knew that she had very little say in the matter. Her Gryffindors were too eager and they were losing this war. The murder of Dorcas hit them hard and more and more of their members had targets on their backs—Minerva included. 

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter both passed quietly in their sleep earlier in the month, from several bouts of Dragon Pox. Minerva remembered seeing James at the funeral, stoic and unmoving, Lily strong beside him. Minerva pulled him close that day. She told him that they loved him very very much. James just nodded and Minerva made note to stop by every once in a while. 

She had finally convinced Rolanda to place the cottage underneath the Fidelius Charm, especially after what had happened near her mother’s home, but due to the fact that they were very rarely at the cottage now, there really wasn’t much more that Minerva could do—beyond strap Rolanda to the bed and never let her leave, and while Ro would definitely wink at her and give her a grin, there was no way that it was possible. 

Minerva’s entire family was underneath the Fidelius, with Minerva as the Secret Keeper—she was also the one for their cottage—and Minerva remained firmly at Hogwarts, with her students and the staff and the castle that she had built her life out of and the woman she had built that life with. 

It wasn’t until March of 1980 that Minerva realised just how badly the Order was losing. 

There was a battle of sorts just between Scotland and England and Minerva was summoned just as she sat down to finish up her marking and she Apparated in a rather quaint looking town with dimmed street lamps and loud shouting from her left. 

She spotted James and Sirius on her right and her heart sank a little. 

Alastor was already duelling with four Death Eaters and Amelia showed up with a grim smile just as Minerva was flinging spells back and forth with a Death Eater that she recognized as Antonin Dolohov. 

She immediately put up Shield Charms for the muggle houses and buildings, glancing over her shoulder only to see a staggering James supporting a bleeding out Sirius and Minerva scrambled over, grabbing both of their hands, telling James to get it together and Apparated the three of them with a pop, wondering how many times she would need to do this, how many times she had held someone to safety, how many times she would be soaked in blood that was not hers. 

Poppy, almost like always at this point, was waiting patiently at the gates of Hogwarts and Minerva nearly collapsed from hoisting the weight of two six-feet tall teenage boys. 

“James, it’s going to be alright,” Minerva soothed, patting his arm. “Poppy will take good care of both of you.” 

She gave Poppy a curt nod and Sirius was levitated onto a stretcher, moaning. Minerva’s chest clenched and with a pop, she was back in the village and Emmeline was leaning on Amelia and she took another person to safety, this time to the Potters’ home, where Euphemia tiredly cleaned up Emmeline’s wounds as Minerva was just about to head back when an erratic Amelia barged in and told her that it was over and asked for where the hell Emmeline was. 

Minerva headed back up to Hogwarts, to Rolanda, with a quick stop by Albus’ office first. He was hunched over a series of very, very old looking scrolls and the instruments in his office were louder than Minerva had ever remembered, almost causing a ruckus in the otherwise quiet office. 

“Albus?” she asked quietly, opening the door after three knocks. “Amelia said that everything went alright—” 

“Minerva, have a seat,” he said heavily, looking very tired indeed. 

“Okay,” Minerva said slowly, scanning him carefully. “We had no casualties on our end—” 

“Gideon and Fabian were murdered,” he said promptly, not glancing up from his work. Minerva was suddenly very glad that she was sitting down. Her jaw clenched and her lips pressed thinly together. 

Her eyes were burning and she blinked several times before speaking. Her hands were curled into fists in her lap. 

“Merlin, and right after their newest nephew was born,” Minerva whispered, a hand over her mouth. “Has anyone informed Molly?” 

Albus nodded. “Alastor’s on his way right now. Said it took five Death Eaters to take them down,” he said, scribbling something down with his quill. 

Minerva suddenly felt a rage boil up in her stomach, just waiting to spill over. 

“Will stop your damned studying?” she snapped, standing up. “Two of our very young, very bright former students just died and you’re out here taking notes?”

Albus paused and looked up at her with tired eyes. 

“What else would you like me to do, Minerva?” he asked calmly. To be completely honest, it sounded more exhausted than anything else.

“To go out and beat this man!” Minerva spat, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re never on the field. You send out your soldiers, your students, and what are you doing? Writing fucking notes as they died!” 

Albus ran a hand over his face. 

“Have a seat again, Minerva,” he said quietly and Minerva shook her head, standing resolutely by the fireplace. “Nevermind. There is something important I need to tell you.” 

Minerva frowned. 

Albus glanced down at notes again and then back up to her. 

“I have reason to suspect that we have a spy amongst our midst,” he said and Minerva felt her stomach sink. She placed a hand on the back of the chair she was once sitting in. 

“Merlin, do you have any clue as to whom?” 

“I have my suspicions, yes,” he said. “For obvious reasons, I ask you to keep this to yourself and to remain wary of whom you speak to. It would not do well to fall apart and accusing our own people left and right.” 

Minerva nodded, her brow furrowing. 

“Are-are you saying that the Prewett twins’ deaths were planned?” 

Albus didn’t say anything and Minerva felt her mouth go dry. 

She cleared her throat and headed for the Infirmary, checking in on James and Sirius, the latter who was fast asleep and looking very young and very small in the hospital bed and the former who was hunched over in a chair beside him. Minerva placed a hand on his shoulder, catching his attention. 

“James, go home,” she said quietly. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.” 

“But—” 

Minerva shook her head. “Madam Pomfrey will contact you when he wakes. Go home, dear.” 

James ran his hand through his hair—a habit he’d had since childhood when Minerva had first seen it when she visited the Potters—and slowly got up. 

“Thanks Professor,” he said quietly, grabbing his cloak. 

“Come on, I’ll accompany you to the gates,” Minerva said, taking his arm. “Where to?” 

James looked at her with a confused look. 

“Where are you going?” she clarified as they reached the Apparition point. 

“Oh,” he replied. “Uh, my parents’ house.” 

Minerva nodded. “You’re in no condition to Apparate and I’m not tending to your Splinched wounds,” she said firmly, holding out her arm. James gave her a small smile and a thank you and they disappeared with a pop. 

“Take care of yourself,” Minerva said sternly as James gave her a quick hug at the gates of the Potter home. “You have a family to think of.” 

“Thanks Professor,” he said, smiling. “You too.” 

Minerva waited until she saw Euphemia open the doors for him and turned on her heel, Disapparated with a snap and fell asleep in Rolanda’s arms with nightmares of Gideon and Fabian and who their spy was and how everything was going downhill even if good things were happening and how it seemed that winning the war was a possibly that slipped out of their hands bit by bit, day by day. 

Gideon and Fabian’s funeral was on a Thursday and it was raining and Molly was standing at the front with the rest of her family, a small baby in her arms and Minerva felt her heart shatter, could almost hear the bits crumbling and there were only Order members because security was difficult these days—sometimes difficult enough that Minerva thought that if this was to go on, there would come a time when burying their dead was a luxury that they could not afford. 

It was difficult, to think of all the good things compared to the bad because all the good things were slowly fading away. 

She held onto Rolanda tighter than ever. 

That night, in the kitchen table, when Ro was in the bathroom, Minerva lowered her head and said the first prayer she had in many, many years.

She wished that Papa was here with her to say it. 

She prayed that Rolanda would never be taken from her. She prayed that she would never have to lose her. That this war, with everything it had taken—her brother, Amelia’s family, Caradoc, Dorcas, Benjy, Gideon and Fabian, all the people that she had known and loved and cherished, that it would not take Rolanda too. 

Her prayer was whispered and the fireplace was roaring even though spring was coming and her chest was very, very empty. 

She held onto Rolanda tight. 

Minerva remained mainly on research and continued administrative work for the Order, mainly because Albus needed her at the castle more than ever—he was off doing Merlin-knew-what nowadays and his seat in the Great Hall was left empty more often than not. With this, Minerva spread her workload out with Lily and Alice mostly, as they were both pregnant and banned from any sort of field work and Minerva was more than glad to be able to spend some time away from all the fighting and the death and the darkness and ever reminding knowledge that her brother was dead. 

She’d been able to stop by a couple times to see her family, dropping off groceries and the such, but not as much as she’d liked and Isobel and Bobbie were growing so fast and Malcolm and Theodora were expecting their first child and Minerva couldn’t help but wonder how many they were going to have during wartime and how many they were going to lose and how many children were going to grow up with fathers or mothers, like Isobel and Bobbie. 

Their losses weighed on her, all the people that they’d lost, all the people with husbands and wives and children and families and lives beyond the Order, beyond the war. 

What a catastrophic waste of life. 

The Order moved on. Minerva tried to along with it, but Albus was going at a breakneck pace, even after Alastor had captured two Death Eaters—one of the five that was responsible for Gideon and Fabian’s deaths and the other one that was part of the murder of the Bones’. 

Minerva should’ve felt rage when she saw their pathetic faces tied up in chairs being interrogated by Albus and Alastor. She should’ve felt glory. 

There was nothing. She just tended to Alastor’s scars and told him that it was a good well done and patted him on the shoulder and went home with a heavy heart. 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Rolanda said when Minerva told her the news. Minerva just shrugged. 

“It is,” she replied. 

Ro frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not feeling anything,” Minerva replied hollowly. She cleaned up the dishes with a flick of her wand. 

“Oh Minerva,” Ro said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her close. “You just haven’t had any time to process it. Death seems to touch everything nowadays.” 

She was right. Minerva nodded. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed. I don’t want to talk about it,” Minerva said, kissing Ro lightly on the lips. Ro nodded and Minerva slept fitfully that night but it was alright because Ro was with her, Ro was with her, Ro was with her. 

The summer came quickly and Minerva was almost swept off her feet with how quickly time seemed to move, while at the same time it seemed to not to at all. She taught her classes, ones with students that seemed younger and younger by the year and she thought about how Isobel was due to Hogwarts at any time and how Robert wasn’t here to see it, any of it, and buried herself into her work and thanked God every night that she came home and Rolanda was there. She mentioned it one evening to Ro, as they sat down for dinner with the summer breeze wandering in through an open window. 

“You think that you’re relieved?” was all she said with a small laugh. It didn’t sound happy. Minerva frowned. “Minerva, if you don’t think I’m worried out of my mind every time you step out for one of those missions, you must be out of your mind.” 

Minerva opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Minerva, I know that this is something you need to do,” Ro added, summoning their dinner over from the kitchen. “But it worries me sick sometimes, it really does.” 

Minerva’s throat felt lodged. 

“Oh.” 

Ro just looked at her. “You must’ve realised this at some point, surely,” she said, sitting down. 

“I guess I had,” Minerva said slowly. “But I never really dwelled on it.” 

Ro reached over and grabbed her hand. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t think I would’ve either if I were in your position.” 

Minerva nodded, holding onto her hand and picking up her fork. 

“I’m sorry,” Minerva whispered after a while. “I wish it wasn’t like this.” 

Ro looked at her sadly. 

“Me too.” 

They ate their dinner in silence. 

Alice went into labour on 29 July on a very, very hot night of 1980 and Neville Longbottom was born to two very proud parents and two—if it was possible—even prouder grandparents and Augusta Floo-ed Minerva the minute after and Minerva rushed out of her office and dropped her quill mid-essay. 

Minerva Apparated to Frank and Alice’s flat in London, rushing through the door, hastily answering their security questions. Alice was sitting in bed, face flushed and holding a small bundle in her arms and Minerva stopped at the doorway, just watching. 

Augusta was the happiest Minerva had ever seen her—and that included her on her wedding day. Frank Sr was standing beside her with his arm around her shoulders and they were both watching their grandson, who was fussing a little in Alice’s arms. Frank was sitting in a chair by the bed, looking at Alice and Neville like they were his entire world. 

Minerva stepped in quietly, not wanting to disrupt the scene. 

“Minerva!” Augusta noticed her first, rushing over to hug her. 

“Augusta,” Minerva replied, holding onto her tight because it’d been some time since they’d last seen each other and good friends were far and few between. “Congratulations, Grandma,” she whispered into her ear. Augusta beamed and pulled her closer to Alice and Frank. 

“Aunt Minerva,” Frank said, standing up and kissing her on the cheek. Minerva squeezed his arm. 

“Congratulations, Papa,” Minerva said, pulling him close. Frank scratched the back of his neck as his ears went bright red. “None of that,” Minerva said, wacking his hand. “You’re going to be a wonderful father.” 

Frank blushed even harder and Minerva leaned over the bed, giving Alice a kiss on the cheek. 

“You’ve done so well, darling,” she said, smiling. She squeezed Alice’s shoulder and Alice just nodded tiredly. 

“Do you want to hold him?” she asked as Neville started to fuss, his wrinkled little red face squishing up. Minerva reached over and ran a knuckle over his cheek. 

“Of course,” Minerva replied softly as Alice shifted the little swaddle of blankets into her arms. 

“Here Neville, meet your Auntie Minerva,” she cooed, as he blinked open his eyes and fussed a little. Minerva’s heart melted. 

“Hello Neville,” she whispered, rocking him back and forth slightly as he gave a small yawn. “I’m Minerva,” she introduced, brushing her finger against his soft skin. Neville settled back, his small eyes closing and Minerva just stood there, holding her godson’s son, this miracle of life. 

“Grandma?” Minerva called gently, nodding her head towards Augusta. She came by Minerva’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“You’re a natural,” she commented, watching them. Minerva smiled. 

“I remind you that I do have a niece and nephew,” she said, as she carefully shifted Neville over into Augusta’s arms. She pulled Frank Sr. into a hug, patting his back. 

“Congratulations, Grandpa,” she said. 

“I was wondering when you were going to notice me,” Frank Sr. joked, kissing her on the cheek. Minerva just laughed. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Where else would I be?” Minerva said, smiling brightly. 

“You know, Lily went into labour just earlier,” Augusta commented as she held little Neville. Minerva raised her eyebrows. 

“Oh? How is she doing?” she asked, watching as Neville slept quietly. 

“Awful, I’m sure,” Alice quipped, sitting up straighter. “I’m never doing that again, Frank. This was all your fault.” 

Everyone in the room laughed and Minerva’s heart was the warmest it’d been since the beginning of the war, that decade ago—Merlin, had it been that long? She wondered if she would even live to a time where they wouldn’t have death at every doorstep and even happier moments, occasions that should’ve been celebrated in the open and with everyone you loved, weren’t shrouded with so much darkness. 

Her heart nearly burst as she watched the Longbottoms crowd their newest member and wondered if this next generation was going to be born into a time where they knew nothing but war. She prayed that they didn’t. 

Wanted to see Neville grow up in the fields like she’d spent the summers at Augusta’s. Wanted to see his eyes widen whenever a spell was performed, wanted to see him walk down the halls of Hogwarts without a care in the world, where she would be writing letters to Augusta about what house he was Sorted into and how he was doing—but not too much because he was first her student before he was Augusta’s grandson and she wanted to see Alice and Frank become the parents they always wanted to be and the future that they always wanted and and and—

There were so many things that she wanted and she didn’t know how many of them she was going to get, if she were to get any at all. 

There was a knock on the door and Minerva opened it because everyone else was preoccupied with the baby and Amelia burst in and Minerva thought of the last time that she, her, and Augusta were all in the same room and to her horror, she couldn’t remember. 

“Amelia,” she greeted, first testing her with their security questions and then giving her a tight hug. 

“Minerva,” she said back, holding onto her tight. Everyone held onto everyone tight nowadays. “How is he?” 

“Wonderful,” she replied, leading her through the flat. “Oh, I never thought I’d live to see this day,” she said absentmindedly and Amelia snapped her neck around. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Minerva blinked, stopping right outside of the bedroom. “I guess I never expected it to come,” she replied. Amelia frowned but didn’t push her as Augusta opened the door and rushed both of them in and Amelia was enamoured by Neville. As the night waned, Amelia and Minerva stood in the corner of the room, both watching their childhood friend fawn over her grandchild. 

“You know, I’m glad you’re here,” Amelia said, as Augusta carefully burped Neville. 

“Yeah, me too,” Minerva replied. Amelia reached over and squeezed her arm. 

“You’re not dying on me, okay, McGonagall?” 

Minerva grinned and laughed a little. 

“You aren’t either, Bones,” she quipped and they both chuckled. 

“We’ve been through a lot, hm?” Amelia mused. 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s worth it for moments like this, though.” 

“It is,” Minerva replied, thinking of Robert, of Edgar and his family, of Caradoc, of Dorcas, of Benjy and all those that they’d lost. 

“Dorcas would’ve liked to have seen this,” Minerva said after a while. 

“Yeah, she would’ve,” Amelia replied. “I hope she’s seeing it now.” 

“Me too.” 

Minerva went home and crawled into bed with Ro and talked about Neville and Augusta and Amelia and all the things that she wanted that she didn’t think she could get, like a confession, like it was a secret she had kept and it was finally coming out. 

“I got you, though,” she said, looking at Ro. She just laughed. 

“That you did,” she replied, kissing her softly. 

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Minerva whispered against her lips. 

“You certainly are,” Ro joked and Minerva just pinched her arm.

“I love you,” Minerva said as they kissed. She started saying it more, when she came home, when she left for work, when she left before a mission, when they were cooking in the kitchen, whenever she could because she didn’t know when she wouldn’t be able to say it at all. 

“I love you too,” Ro replied, pulling the covers over them and pulling her close. She was warm. 

The next day, Lily Potter gave birth to Harry Potter and Minerva and Ro stopped by later in the evening because she was sure that the new parents needed some space and knocked on the door of the Potters’ cottage with a small basket of pastries because she would’ve brought something for Frank and Alice if she’d been given more notice. 

“Professor!” James greeted as she stepped in. She gave him a look over her glasses. 

“What did I say about that?” 

“I’m sorry, but I think calling you Minerva might send me into early grave,” he joked. Minerva rolled her eyes and Ro laughed loudly. 

“As I recall, you had no qualms about it while you were in class,” she said, handing him the basket. 

“That was Sirius,” he and Ro both said in unison and they both looked at each other strangely before bursting into laughter. 

“I see seven years of our bullshit has taught you well, Madam Hooch,” James joked. 

“Please, call me Rolanda. I haven’t been your flying instructor for a very, very long time,” Ro said with a bright smile. “After all, I’m here with Minerva anyways.” 

James nodded and looked at the two of them as if he had something he wanted to ask but Minerva pulled him close before he could say anything. 

“Congratulations, James,” she said warmly, giving him a hug. “Your parents would be so proud.”

He sniffed a little and Minerva squeezed his arm. “I hope so.” 

“My dear, they would,” she said thickly. “They would.” 

“Come on, I want you to meet my son,” he said proudly, leading them both upstairs. 

“Minnie!” a voice shouted as she stepped into the bedroom and Minerva just rolled her eyes and Ro snickered. 

“Sirius, it’s good to see you,” she said politely, giving him a clip on the ear. 

“Hey!” 

“Just because you’re no longer my student doesn’t mean that you can expect no consequences,” she said primly and Sirius just grinned. 

“Hey Ro,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Good to see you, Hooch.” 

Ro gave a small smile. “Good to see you too, Black. Not causing too much fuss here?” 

Sirius placed a hand on his chest, faux-affronted. “Who? Me?” 

Everyone laughed and Minerva properly greeted Lily, who was looking very tired sitting in bed. 

“How are you, dear?” she asked, giving her a warm smile and kissing her on the cheek. She held a small bundle in her arms. 

“I hate James,” Lily joked and Minerva chuckled and Ro hollered. 

“That’s what you get for marrying a bloke,” Ro quipped and Minerva grinned. 

“Tired,” Lily said truthfully. “But nevermind about that, would you like to meet Harry?” 

Minerva nodded and Lily gently lifted the baby into her arms, with Ro looking over her shoulder as she carefully held the infant. His tuff of black hair peeked out of the blankets and he slowly blinked open his eyes, looking widely around. 

“Oh, Lily, he has your eyes,” she gushed, cooing at Harry. 

“Hey! What about me?” James said. 

“Hush you,” Minerva said as James bounded into bed with Lily, hugging her as she giggled. 

“Hi Harry,” Minerva whispered. 

“Hiya Harry,” Ro said, giving him a small wave. 

“I’m Minerva and that’s Rolanda,” Minerva said quietly. “But if that’s too hard for you to say, Min and Ro works just fine.” 

“We’ll teach you everything that your parents will miss,” Ro said cheekily, smiling brightly him. 

“Hey! Heard that!” James said as he sat up beside Lily, who grinned. 

“I’m sure there’ll be lots to learn from their aunts,” she said and Minerva beamed and her heart was so warm and she wanted to pull Ro close and kiss her right then and there. 

“He’s wonderful,” Minerva said, passing Harry to Ro. “Congratulations, Mum and Dad.” 

James and Lily smiled so bright that Minerva thought their cheeks were going to burst. 

“Oh, Professor! I didn’t know you were coming,” a voice came from behind and Remus bounded in, hugging Sirius before giving Minerva a kiss on the cheek. 

“Just stopping by for a little to see the newest of your little ‘Marauders’,” Minerva said, giving him a smile. 

“Ha! Told you she knew,” Sirius said, holding out a hand to James, who grumbled and reached into his back pocket, handing him a couple of coins. Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

“It’s okay, we’ll teach you better manners than your father here,” she faux-whispered to Harry and everyone laughed as James protested, his hair disheveled but eyes bright as ever. 

Ro passed the baby back to Lily and they bowed out, giving the group of friends their own time and they strolled through Godric’s Hollow for a little, basking in the evening sun as it was just starting to set. 

“That was lovely,” Minerva commented, looping her arm through Ro’s. 

“It was,” she replied. “Though, it did make me feel terribly old seeing our students have kids.” 

Minerva just laughed. 

“Those young broads have enough youth within them to make anyone feel old,” she quipped. “Though you’re pushing fifty,” she joked. Ro looked at her, scandalized. 

“And you’re not?” 

“No, I’m just at the middle, right at forty-five,” Minerva replied, holding her head up and Ro just leaned onto her shoulder, holding her tight. “Let’s go home. I don’t want to risk it.” 

Ro just nodded and with a pop, they were at the gates of their home and Minerva went to bed happier and warmer and brighter than ever, with the thoughts of young Neville and Harry running around in Augusta’s backyard, playing Quidditch and Gobblestones and their laughter filling the air as maybe Isobel—she was a little too old for them at this point, but maybe Bobbie, joined them and he taught them how to fly and how magic worked and the thoughts of a bright, bright future ahead that she knew that wasn’t very likely to happen. 

She didn’t think of that, though. 

She held Ro tight and thanked God that she had this and she still had most of the people that she loved in her life, even if she didn’t have Robert, even if she didn’t have Edgar or Dorcas or Benjy, but she still had Ro, had Albus, had Amelia, had Augusta, had Eleanor, had Emmeline, had all these people that she loved and they loved in return. 

The war could take many things away. Could take her family, take her life, take her home. 

But it could never take her love, her warmth, her Rolanda. It couldn’t. Minerva wouldn’t allow it to happen. 

Could never take Rolanda. 

Minerva was on duty patrolling the outer London area, with Emmeline beside her when she realised that they were just outside of a Ministry headquarters for a division of the Aurors but it was a snap second too late and a beam of green light shot right above her head as Emmeline dragged her down and hissed in her ear. 

“Pay attention!” she snapped and Minerva had already sent out three Patronuses and Frank Sr. rushed out of the door to her left and Minerva was fending off three Death Eaters with everything she knew and for a second, just a second, she thought that it was becoming easy. 

Becoming habit. Surely, they could give her better than that, huh? 

She flung spell after spell followed by hex and curse and while Minerva had a relatively reasonable understanding of her skills, she knew that she held nothing against the Unforgivables, with one particular one of them that she knew she had nothing against—one that no one had anything against, and that included Albus. 

A green ray of light nearly hit Frank’s leg before Minerva deflected it with a well placed Protego and he gave her a grateful smile and Minerva spotted Sirius and Remus and Peter out of the corner of her eye and both gratefulness and a pang of grief mashed together in her chest. 

Sirius avoided spells with an ease that no one his age should’ve ever. He was moving with a grace and a speed that he should’ve learnt at Auror Academy instead of on the battlefield too young, too early. 

Remus was right by with him and he held onto Sirius’ hand tightly and Minerva made a mental note to speak to them afterwards—if there even was an afterwards—and carefully noted that Peter was cautious as ever, something that she was going to need to drill into Sirius’ head as she watched him narrowly dodge yet another Killing Curse while taunting the Death Eater that sent it. 

Moody appeared in a flash and Minerva backed up against Emmeline, who was breathing heavily and clutching at her side. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, grabbing her arm and holding her up a little. 

“Fine,” she gasped as she deflected another spell and jumped out of the way. Minerva frowned but was unable to question her further as they were bombarded with curses, barely avoided by Minerva’s last minute Shield Charm. 

“Close one,” Emmeline commented, leaning against Minerva and she could see blood seeping through her robes. 

“Come on, let’s get you back to Hogwarts, you need that looked at,” Minerva said, giving her a worried glance. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted and Minerva was tempted to Apparate them right out of there until she noticed the tell-tale Anti-Apparation wards shimmering around the street. Spells were flying over them left and right and it appeared that the Death Eaters were attempting to penetrate the Ministry’s headquarters, with little success. 

It seemed that they were looking for something, Minerva noticed as she picked up snippets of conversation between two of them before she sent Stunning spells right to their backs. 

Suddenly, there was a loud scream. 

Minerva didn’t know who it was, but she knew the curse well.

It stopped almost as quickly as it began and Emmeline was still leaning up against her.

Then, she saw the body drop, swaying, falling to the ground hard. 

She ran, almost dropping Emmeline. 

_“Frank!”_

Her voice was loud, shrill. 

She knew it before she got there, knew it even though she felt for a pulse, knew it even though she’d seen the Killing Curse, knew it before—

Merlin, what was she going to tell Augusta? How was she going to tell Augusta? 

Little more than a month ago, he had held his grandson and Minerva had watched. Frank was still warm in her arms as she cradled him, as curses flew over her head. She put up a Shield Charm as Emmeline limped by and Minerva could feel her eyes burning up and Emmeline grimaced and led the two of them into another Alley and Apparated with a pop. 

They reappeared outside of the nearest headquarters and Minerva was quiet as Albus took care of the body and she asked where Augusta was because she needed to tell her, needed to tell her best friend that she was the reason that her husband was dead and all Minerva could think about was how happy they looked on their wedding day, how happy they looked the day Neville was born, how they had their whole lives and more ahead of them—

She cleaned up the blood along with Emmeline’s wound before she Apparated to Augusta’s home, which was brightly lit and she slowly walked her way up the long drive, holding herself together with nothing more than her grief and tried to tell herself that Frank died nobly, died for the cause that he believed in, all the things that people said after someone died in battle. 

But if there wasn’t a stupid war in the first place, there wouldn’t be the damned issue at all. She knocked on the door and Alice answered it with a grin and a glass of wine in hand. 

There was music coming in from the manor and Minerva’s heart sank. It looked like there was a little celebration going on. 

It looked like they were waiting for Frank to come home. 

Minerva stepped in, answered their security questions, and smoothed out her robes. 

“Minerva?” Augusta asked, her eyes bright as she rushed towards her, hugging her as the scotch splashed in its glass. “Oh Min, it’s wonderful to see you!” 

“It’s good to see you too, Gussie,” Minerva replied numbly, plastering a smile on her face. 

“What are you here for?” 

Minerva opened her mouth and the glass shattered on the floor.

Frank Sr.’s funeral was a small, somber affair. Minerva stood beside Augusta, with Amelia on her right and Frank and Alice next to them. Rolanda wasn’t there because it was Order only. Alice was carrying little Neville, who looked around with wide eyes. He was barely a month old. 

Augusta held her head up high and didn’t shed a tear. If Minerva didn’t know her better, she would’ve thought her uncaring. 

She reached out and grabbed Augusta’s gloved hand, squeezing it tightly. Frank was buried in the family plot. 

As the small group started to leave, Minerva joined them, wanting to give Augusta her privacy. 

“Wait,” Augusta said quietly, grabbing onto Minerva’s wrist. “Please stay.” 

Minerva looked at her with soft eyes. 

“Okay,” she replied, standing in front of the headstone with Augusta. The sun was bright and it was a hot day in late August. 

They stood there silently, as the clouds passed and the sun continued to shine. 

“I was so happy for you,” Minerva said after a while. “The day you got married.” 

Augusta chuckled. “It was one of the happiest days of my life.” 

Minerva stepped closer to her and grabbed her arm. Augusta leaned her head on Minerva’s shoulder. 

“I miss him so much,” she whispered.

Minerva wanted to tell her that it would be okay, that Frank’s death was not lost in vain, that there would be an end to this all and she could watch her grandson grow, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know how true it all was. 

“I know,” was all she said. 

“I can’t go home,” Augusta said, thickly. “I’ve spent the past thirty years coming home to him”—her voice wavered—“and I don’t know what to do.” 

Minerva held onto her tightly. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Augusta sobbed and Minerva just held her. “I can’t go home.” 

“You can stay with me,” she replied as she patted Augusta’s back. “We have a guest bedroom and Ro won’t mind.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“You took in an eighteen-year-old sobbing on your doorstep,” Minerva said. “It’s the least I can do.” 

Augusta looked at her with teary eyes and squeezed her arm. 

“You’re a good friend, Min,” she said. 

“I know,” Minerva joked and Augusta lightly punched her shoulder. “I’ve known you since you were that haughtily little girl on the Express. You think anything’s going to change?” 

Augusta’s face softened. 

“No,” was all she said and Minerva Apparated the both of them back to the cottage, made a pot of coffee, and listened to Augusta talk about her grandson. 

It wasn’t easy or good or true or anything of those things that you said about healing from loss, but it was something and that, Minerva supposed, had to be enough. 

Augusta stayed with them as Minerva and Rolanda taught, as Frank and Alice visited them with little Neville—who seemed to be growing faster than ever—all the way through the school year, through Minerva’s forty-fifth birthday, through another battle where Minerva nearly lost her arm, all the way through until the night that Albus’ Patronus flew its way into her living room—

“Attack at McKinnon Manor,” it boomed and disappeared in a swirl of blue magic. Minerva immediately summoned her cloak, kissed Ro on the cheek, wished Augusta well—both of whom told her to come home safe—and Apparated into the small village near Eleanor’s home.

There was smoke everywhere. 

Minerva immediately cast a Bubble-Head and Disillusion charm, ducking her head and carefully approaching the large home. There was smoke everywhere. 

All she could hear were Amelia’s screams, Edgar’s screams, the _children’s_ screams—

But there was no screaming this time. 

There were no Death Eaters in sight. 

Minerva came to realise why. 

In front of the elaborate manor that Minerva had spent a couple of drinks and dinners at, where she had listened to Eleanor play the piano and Mark join her on the violin, where before the war, she had been invited for a _Witches for Wizengamot_ meeting, that lifetime ago. 

Her stomach turned at the sight. 

Eleanor and Mark were strapped to two stakes, their skin burned. Eleanor’s hair hung limply. Mark’s eyes were dull. Eleanor was stripped of her clothes. 

There were cuts all over, from their arms to their legs to the two identical ones at the neck. Eleanor had slashes in her breasts. Minerva wanted to hurl. She wasn’t sure if she did. 

She gagged on the smoke, even with the charm. 

Their son, Darren, was on another stake beside them, in a similar fashion. Minerva remembered his bright eyes in the front of her class. 

Marlene was missing. 

She immediately sprinted for the manor, running past the burnt doors and walls, her feet pounding against the ground—

There was a chance she was still alive. There had to be, maybe she made it out, maybe she was able to get away, maybe she was able to Apparate right before, maybe she was with a friend—maybe Lily!—maybe she was in her room—

“She’s not here, Minerva,” a voice said from behind and she whipped around, nearly hexing the life out of him—

Albus stood in front of her, his robes torn and dusty. 

“What? How do you know? Wait, what was your sister’s name?” Minerva spat, her thoughts swirling. 

“Ariana,” Albus replied, quiet. “Marlene isn’t here because she was placed outside of the Potter’s home. To taunt James and Lily.”

“So she’s—”

“She’s dead.” 

Minerva froze and nearly dropped her wand. She felt herself fall to her knees but she wasn’t sure. Albus kneeled down with her. 

They sat in the rubble in silence.

> _“I am sitting at my kitchen table waiting for my lover to arrive with lettuce and tomatoes and rum and sherry wine and a big floury loaf of bread in the fading sunlight. Coffee is percolating quietly, and my mood is mellow. I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now.”_ —Tennessee Williams, in a letter to Donald Windham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're making our way towards the end of part two! feel free to shout at me in the comments and let me know what you thought. i can't believe i originally thought this fic would be 10k max and now we're almost at 90k. i am truly a Clown. hope you enjoyed <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for some canon-typical violence along with mentions and descriptions of death.

“Aunt Min!” Isobel shouted, bounding towards her in the hallway. “Aunt Min is here!” she hollered, jumping into her arms. Minerva stepped back a little, laughing. She kissed her on the head and lifted her up, spinning her around. 

“Oh darling, you must’ve grown so much since the last I saw you!” Minerva exclaimed as Isobel giggled.

“My turn!” Rolanda said, attack-hugging Isobel, kissing her on the cheek. “Have you missed me?” 

“No!” Isobel replied stubbornly. “We don’t need either you or Aunt Min!” 

Ro just grinned and tickled her, Isobel shrieking as Malcolm came down the stairs. “Let me ask again,” Ro repeated as Isobel squirmed in her arms. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I did!” she admitted, gasping through her giggles. “I missed you so much, Aunt Ro!” 

Ro placed her hands on her hips and smiled brightly. “I’ve missed you too, chimp,” she said, patting her on the head. “Now, if you want presents, I’ll race you to the living room!” 

Minerva laughed as they scrambled in front of her.

“Now, when Mother told me that my sister had shacked up with one of her employees, I was going to rag you on breaking the rules but since it’s Christmas, I’ll hold back,” Malcolm teased, pulling Minerva in for a hug before she could punch him in the shoulder.

“Shut up, I told you myself,” she said, giving him a faux-glare and hung up her cloak. Malcolm shrugged and flung an arm around her. 

“I thought there needed someone to make fun of you, since Robert isn’t here to do it,” he said with a sad smile, “I figured someone else needed to, since neither Mother or Papa will do it.” 

“I hope none of you have been leaving the manse,” Minerva quipped as they headed towards the living room. “It’s getting worse out there,” she said grimly. 

Malcolm nodded. “Yeah. But you’re okay, right? Mother mentioned something about you being in the hospital a while back.” 

Minerva placed a hand on his arm, looking right into his eyes. With each passing day, he seemed to look more and more like their father. She wondered if Malcolm saw the same in her with their mother. 

“I’m fine, Malcolm,” she insisted. “They need me for this.” 

“Enough for you to give your life?” he asked, his lips thin. “I’ve already buried a brother. I’m not doing the same for my sister.” 

Minerva’s face softened. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she reassured, even if she couldn’t promise it. “I’ll be here for Christmases and Christmases to come.” 

Malcolm didn’t look convinced, but Mother interrupted them, giving Minerva a long hug. 

“It’s so good to see you, dear,” she said and Minerva breathed in deeply her scent of soap and herbs. 

“You too, Mother,” she replied, squeezing her tightly. “It’s good to be home for Christmas. And thank you, for inviting Rolanda’s mother.” 

“I wanted to meet the woman that made the one that has given you so much happiness,” Mother said simply. 

“And what are we saying to Papa?” 

Mother gave her a wink. “I believe that’s up to you, my dear.” 

Minerva gulped and grabbed a glass of wine from the counter that Mother had poured out already, beside some platters of cheese and pies.

“Hello Papa,” Minerva greeted, sitting on the armrest of his chair in the living room, basking in the warmth from the fire. 

“Hello lass,” he said, grabbing onto her hand. “You need to visit more,” he said, wagging a finger at her. Minerva just nodded. 

“I know,” she said, watching Ro and Isobel and Bobbie play on the floor in front of them. 

“When were you going to tell me?” Papa asked quietly, as Ro introduced Isobel and Bobbie to her mother, who was sitting in the armchair across the room, smiling brightly. 

“Tell you what?” Minerva replied, feigning ignorance. Papa just chuckled. 

“You thought you could bring her home and not think that I would question it? Also, she was there at Rob—Bobbie’s birth,” Papa said, looking at her with bright eyes. Minerva just raised her eyebrows. 

“She has a name, you know?” 

“Of course, Rolanda,” he said, shaking his head. “When were you going to tell me, lass?”

Minerva paused for a second, biting her lip. 

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Mother figured it out the day Bobbie was born.”

Papa looked at her sadly. “Minerva,” he said slowly and she waited with a baited breath. “Whatever happens, whatever you do, you are first and foremost my daughter.”

“That’s what Mother said,” Minerva replied, her eyes burning up. 

“Your mother is an incredible person,” he said with such love that Minerva wanted to cry. “I can’t pretend to understand, or really, condone, but if you’re happy—”

“I am,” Minerva said, interrupting him. “I am.” 

“Then I am glad,” he said, folding his other hand over hers. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me until now,” he said sadly. “You’ve always been so far from me, Minerva.” 

She frowned. 

“Whatever do you mean by that?” 

Papa looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry that your childhood was filled with so much hiding. Don’t think that I don’t know what you gave up. Don’t think I don’t know what your mother went through.” 

Minerva sniffed and threw her arms around Papa’s neck, burrowing her face into his sweater. 

“Oh Papa,” she breathed. “Oh Papa.” 

He patted her on the back as Minerva dried her eyes. 

“I love you,” she whispered. Papa was warm and solid and like everything she had remembered. 

“I love you too, lass. Don’t you ever forget.”

“I wont,” she said. “I won’t.” 

Bobbie interrupted them by trying to jump onto Minerva and failing miserably, leaving him flat on the floor with a pout on his face. Minerva laughed and swooped down, picking him up and with a little bit of magical assistance, threw him up into the air. 

“Again, Min-Min! Again!” he shouted, laughing with glee. Minerva laughed and obliged, sending him almost flying. 

“Now, now Bobbie, stop bothering your Aunt Min,” Kathleen said sternly, grabbing him out of the air and placing him on the ground. 

“Oh Kathleen, don’t worry about it—” 

“If he gets too excited now, he won’t sleep a wink later,” Kathleen whispered, giving her a grin. Minerva nodded as Mother called for dinner and all the McGonagalls, with Rolanda and her mother, filed into the enlarged table that was filled with food.

The room was warm and the stars were bright and it was Christmas Eve and Minerva was here with everyone she loved in her life and there was little more than she could ask for and right before they went to bed, Minerva kissed Rolanda underneath the mistletoe and told her that she loved her. 

“Thanks for inviting Mum,” Ro whispered. 

“It was my mother’s idea,” Minerva replied with a wry grin. Ro grinned and kissed her again. 

“Happy Christmas, Minerva,” she said. 

“Happy Christmas.”

Augusta had moved back into her home by the time 1981 rolled around, but the Longbottoms spent the New Year’s with Minerva and Rolanda at the cottage, with little Neville perched in his high chair at the dining table as Augusta fussed with his food. 

They rang in 1981 with some champagne, a lot of hope, and a bright, bright moon. Minerva kissed Ro as the clock struck twelve and prayed for a better year, a brighter future, and a world without war for young Neville. 

She went to bed with a full stomach, Rolanda in her bed, and a new year ahead. She told herself that it was a new beginning. Another start. She also couldn’t help but mention that they had spent the past ten years in war—what would make this one any different? 

The winter was cold and Ro was warm, so that must’ve been something. And at this point, Minerva would take it. She would take anything. 

She prayed that Robert was happy in heaven. She prayed that she would never lose Ro. She had watched Augusta fold into herself after Frank’s death. 

She wasn’t sure if she could survive it. Wasn’t sure if she was as strong as Augusta. 

She prayed that she never needed to find out.

It also turned out that her prayers for a better year were for naught, as in the middle of March, Minerva was in Albus’ office when the new Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, burst through the Floo. 

“Headmaster!” she exclaimed, gasping. “There’s been a massacre, right outside of Kent. Muggles.” 

Albus immediately stood up, reaching for his wand. 

“You’ve sent the Aurors, I presume,” he stated, giving the Minister a careful look. She nodded. 

“Merlin, how many—” 

“Fifty-four so far,” the Minister replied grimly. Minerva heard herself gasp and she grabbed her cloak. 

“Alastor will already be there, but I’ll—” 

“No,” Albus said firmly, interrupting her. Minerva frowned. “You stay here, Minerva. I’ll go.” 

Minerva sat down carefully, nodding. “Be safe,” she cautioned as Albus and the Minister stepped through the Floo. She quickly sent Mother a Patronus, just to be safe. A tawny owl came back and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

She stayed in Albus’ office for the evening, sending Ro another Patronus mentioning that she wouldn’t be home until later, going through the schedules and safety measures for that year. 

Albus appeared with a pop in the middle of the room a couple of hours later, as the night ticked later and later. 

“Merlin, you scared me,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “Your sister’s name?” she asked, almost absentmindedly, reading her notes. 

“Ariana. The first woman you kissed?” 

“Amelia. How was it?” she asked, carefully giving him a once-over. “Merlin, you look a mess. Here—” She waved her wand and cleaned up his dirty robes.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting heavily in his chair. “It was—” 

He paused, holding his head in his hands. “I’m afraid we’ve lost this one too, Minerva.” 

She didn’t say anything, just looking at the paper in front of her. 

“We need to figure out the spy,” he added, sounding defeated and Minerva just handed him the files she’d been working on and they talked throughout the night, as the sun rose, as they mulled over every idea possible, and finally settled down for a game of chess that neither of them had had the time for in quite a while. 

“Do you think we’ve got a chance?” Minerva asked quietly, as she moved a pawn. 

Albus was quiet for a long time. 

“I think,” he began slowly. “If we never lose hope, if we keep moving forward, we do.” 

Minerva nodded. 

“There are days I wish I could just pick up and leave,” she said quietly, almost like a confession. “Went to New Zealand or something.” 

“It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” 

“It is.” 

“I’m glad you haven’t,” Minerva replied with a grin. Albus gave her a small smile and reached over, patting her hand. 

“I’m glad you haven’t either.” 

Winter bled into spring fast, faster than it had before, with spring dying out to summer eventually, and with a couple of skirmishes here and there, it seemed that Voldemort was lying low for the first half of 1981.

Minerva was constantly on edge, waiting for a Patronus. 

“I can feel your nerves, Aunt Minerva,” Frank teased as she sat in their living room, celebrating Neville’s first birthday. She gave a tight smile. 

“Sorry,” she replied, stilling her leg. “It’s just, well, you know.” 

“That’s the most ineloquent I’ve ever heard you be,” Frank teased. “Everything alright?” 

Minerva smiled as much as she could. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “And yes, everything’s fine. We’re here for this little one anyways,” she avoided, picking up Neville who was crawling on the ground. He giggled and smiled toothlessly. 

“You look just like your mother,” Minerva cooed, smiling at him brightly. “Though I’m sure you’ll be just as much trouble as your father.” 

“Hey! I was perfect as pie in school,” Frank protested. Minerva gave him a look and Augusta laughed. “Well, most of the time,” he amended. 

“You had nothing on James and Sirius anyways,” Minerva said with a wave of a hand. “Those four gave me a permanent line on my forehead,” she joked and Augusta sat down beside her, taking Neville from her arms.

“I’m sure they did,” Alice said with a grin. “Sometimes I wish I had joined them.” 

Minerva just threw her hands up, faux-exasperated. “I can’t win, can I?” 

Everyone laughed and Minerva joined them, later singing happy birthday to a clueless Neville who tried to stick his hands into the cake right as Frank set it on the table. 

“I wish he was here to see this,” Augusta said after, as they watched the young family stuff cake into each other’s faces. Minerva reached over and squeezed her arm. 

“He is,” she whispered. “He is.” 

“Thank you,” Augusta replied, giving her a small smile. 

“Come on, let’s get Grandma!” Alice shouted, lifting a cake-covered Neville towards them, who mashed a slice into Augusta’s face with a shriek of laughter. Minerva doubled over, until she herself found icing shoved onto her robes. 

“Oh, you’ll pay for that!” she teased, raising her wand and charming the cake to follow Neville. He giggled and the sound was lovelier than anything Minerva’d heard in a long, long time. 

She went home and regaled a Rolanda busy with some marking—for once, since she was taking some off of Pomona’s plate—who kissed her and joked that she still tasted like pudding. Minerva just whacked her arm and they spent the evening by the fire, in each other’s arms. 

The next day, they both dropped by the Potters’ in Godric’s Hollow, Minerva subtly strengthening the wards as they stepped through the small garden where James and Lily were clearly busy with the flora—there were moving vines crawling up and around the house, with roses and petunias and lilies and carnations growing wildly.

“Hey Professor,” James greeted, opening the door and a large, ginger cat leaped out in front, curling up against Minerva’s leg. “Hey, Elvendork, get back inside,” he snapped and Minerva just laughed, scooping the bundle of fur, petting him gently. 

“The prank you pulled that resulted in two months’ worth of detention?” Minerva asked in lieu of response, stepping into the cottage with Ro beside her, who snickered. 

“I think you’re going to need to be more specific with that, Minerva,” she said, petting Elvendork. 

“She’s got you there, Professor,” James said, giving her a wink. Minerva rolled her eyes.

“In your seventh year,” she elaborated and James grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

“Ah,” he said, looking up as if he was reminiscing the event. “We placed over three dozen dungbombs in the staff room and subsequently put our leftovers into the Slytherin common room.” 

Minerva smiled and patted his shoulder. “Sounds right, doesn’t it, Elvendork?” she said to the cat, who just meowed. James led them through the cottage into the living room, where Lily was sitting on the carpet with little Harry zooming around on a mini-broom. Minerva smiled just at the sight of it. Elvendork leapt out of her arms as she enlarged the small gift they’d gotten for Harry as Ro immediately started chasing around the young boy, who was laughing with glee. 

“Thanks for inviting us, Lily,” Minerva greeted, handing her the small present. 

“Oh Minerva, you didn’t need to,” she said, giving her a bright smile. “Goodness knows that James and Sirius are already spoiling him—that was Sirius’ lovely idea.” 

“Nonsense,” Minerva replied sternly. “It’s his first birthday. And I gave something very similar to my niece, though not quite as young.” 

Lily rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Give it up to Sirius to give a broom to a one-year-old,” she commented as Harry shrieked as Ro caught up to him, swooping him off and up into the air. 

“Up! Up!” he squealed and Minerva whispered a small spell to raise him higher, just a little and Lily gave her a dirty look.

“What?” Minerva said innocently and Lily just laughed as Ro brought Harry back to the ground and helped him walk towards them, holding him up with his hands. 

“Come to Mummy,” Lily said, reaching out and catching him as he fell on his bum, giggling. “Say hello to your Aunt Min, hm?” 

“Min-Min!” Harry cheered, clapping his hands together and Minerva’s heart melted, just a little and she smiled kindly. 

“Hello Harry,” she said, picking him up after Lily nodded with a grin, holding him up against her. “We’re here for your birthday.” 

“Bith-day!” he said, looking at Minerva with bright eyes. 

“That’s right,” she said, bopping him on the nose. “It’s your first birthday, dear.” 

Harry just reached for her glasses, tugging them off and Minerva laughed as Lily reached over, reprimanding him with a tut. 

“He does that to James all the time,” she said, bouncing Harry in her lap and Minerva just placed them back on, basking in the joy of the day, of her wife with Harry, of Lily and James’ happiness, of all this light as a welcome break from the constant fighting and fear and death. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Minerva said, giving Ro a glance, who smiled brightly and Minerva silently prayed that she would see more moments like this, that Harry would have birthdays and birthdays and birthdays afterwards, with James and Lily questioning him about the Hogwarts house that he was Sorted into, about the girl or boy that he brought home over the summer, whether or not he would be as good at Quidditch as his father was—he was already quick on that mini-broom and Minerva had high hopes for the Gryffindor team—if he would be good at Potions and Charms like his mother or excel at Transfiguration like his father. If he would be good friends with Neville, if he would have the future that they were so badly fighting for. The future that many had died for. 

Minerva and Ro left the cottage with a new bounce in their step and when they turned in for the night, Minerva held onto Ro tight. 

“I wish we could’ve had a family together,” Minerva said suddenly. “Though at times like these, I am glad that we haven’t.” 

Ro was quiet for a moment. “Me too.” 

Minerva lifted her head from the pillow, propping it up with her arm and looking down at Ro. 

“Sometimes,” she began. “On days like this, I think about what our children would’ve looked like.” 

Ro smiled softly. “Do you think they’d have black hair with my eyes? Or my hair with your eyes?” she teased. 

Minerva buried her face into Ro’s shoulder, blushing. “Sometimes,” she replied as Ro stroked her hair. 

“There have been many things I’ve wanted in life,” Ro said after a while. “And almost all of them have been you.” 

Minerva just kissed her, warm and gentle in the summer breeze, in their home, the home they had built for themselves, their lives, the life they had made together. 

“You have given me everything,” Minerva replied against her lips. “Everything.” 

Ro just kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. 

_ “Bombarda!”  _

_ “Avada Kedavra!”  _

_ “Crucio!”  _

Minerva ducked, panting as bright lights whizzed above her head and Emmeline was right beside her, carefully aiming her wand. 

They were in Diagon Alley, much like the first major battle that Minerva was in, much like the one that Robert had died in, except this time she was better, she was stronger, and more importantly, they had orders to fight fire with fire. 

Not from Albus—Minerva didn’t ever think there would be a day that Albus would order something like that, perhaps guilty imply, but never order. Alastor had rules from the Ministry the very same ones were extended to the Order. Minerva had yet to use one of the Unforgivables, but tonight, that was going to change. 

She tried to be a good person. She paid her taxes, worked hard at her job, and risked her neck when she had to. 

But the Killing Curse came too easy from her mouth and without hesitation and the Death Eater in front of them dropped dead even if the Stunning spell would have sufficed but she knew, that once that spell left her wand, that she wanted it to happen, needed it to happen, and she didn’t think twice. 

Emmeline didn’t mention anything because she was too busy ducking the Cruicatus and Minerva tried to tell herself that she felt tainted afterwards, felt wrong, but she didn’t. 

What happened had happened. 

She didn’t see his face and she didn’t want to. 

It was war. She was surprised she hadn’t needed to kill until now, until she spotted Alastor surrounded and being tortured and she limited it to  _ Stupefy _ for all but the one that held the Cruciatus on Alastor, as she listened to him scream, the chilling sound filling the Alley, it was, once again, too easy for the words to slip off her tongue. 

Minerva was better this time round. 

Her wand never left her hand and when she and Emmeline reported back to Hogwarts, there was only a cut on her cheek and a battle well-won. 

However, as they reached the gates, Emmeline suddenly grabbed Minerva by the arm, hard, gripping her close and all of a sudden, with a loud pop and a tumble of the stomach, the world spun and they were no longer outside of Hogwarts, but in a darkened alley where Minerva could smell smoke and hear the chatter of some city’s night life.

“What—” she reached for her wand but Emmeline’s was already against her throat. 

“Shut up,” Emmeline—who was clearly not Emmeline at this point that Minerva had figured out—growled. “This is your only warning.” 

Minerva nodded, shaking, but her hand was already on her wand, ready at any moment. 

“You back out of this fight,” Not-Emmeline hissed. “You quit and you get to keep everything you have.” 

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?” 

“Is that what you need it to be?” 

“No,” Minerva replied, calm. “But it will be for you,” she snapped, whipping around and stunning not-Emmeline immediately. She fell to the ground with a thud, her blonde hair spilling across the ground and Minerva hefted her up, placing a Featherweight charm on her, and Apparated for their most recent Headquarters, sending a Patronus to Albus and Alastor to meet her there. 

She levitated Not-Emmeline—or maybe she was Imperious-ed, Minerva wasn’t quite sure yet—into the manor, bounding her around the wrists and taking her wand. It sat heavy in her hand and was most definitely not the wand that Minerva saw out in battle. Polyjuice then, she supposed, flipping open the cabinets and looking for an antidote.

The door opened with a creak and Minerva already had her wand in hand, pointing it towards the doorway. 

“Minerva?” Albus called and she breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. 

“The name of your sister?” 

“Ariana. Rolanda’s favourite place at the cottage?” 

“The kitchen,” Minerva replied and rushed towards him, pulling him closer to Not-Emmeline. 

She regaled him of what happened, his brow deepening with each word. He waved his wand over Not-Emmeline’s prone form a couple of times. 

“Administer the Polyjuice antidote,” he instructed and Minerva nodded, opening Not-Emmeline’s mouth and forcing her to swallow. Slowly, her body rippled and the potion wore away, almost like skin peeling back to reveal the face of Rabastan Lestrange. Minerva gasped, stepping back and waving her wand once more, placing another set of restraints, both magical and physical, around his arms and legs. 

“Albus—” 

He held up his hand and Minerva silenced. 

“Why would Rabastan be after you?” he mused. “I’d think Voldemort would send someone higher ranking.” 

Minerva glared at him. “Really?” 

Albus gave a small smile. “I would’ve expected Bellatrix, or her husband. But his brother?” 

Minerva shrugged. “Who knows,” she said, unable to look at him. “What’s important is that we need to find the real Emmeline, now.” 

Albus looked grim. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “If it comes to it, there could be a trade of some sort.” 

Minerva nodded and sent a Patronus to Amelia. “Do you think this has anything to do with the spy?” she asked, placing up a privacy charm just in case. 

Albus frowned. “It may,” he replied, vague. Minerva was about to push him further, but Alastor burst through the door, eyeing both of them carefully and asking his security questions. Minerva ran over the situation once more as Amelia’s Patronus came back saying that Emmeline wasn’t with her, that she’d gone straight to the battle right after work. 

Minerva’s stomach dropped. 

“We need to find her, right away—”

“Minerva, I have this handled,” Albus said sternly. 

“No, she’s Amelia’s—” she paused. “I’m the reason she’s in this mess to begin with, you have to let me—” 

“No, Minerva. You were already captured tonight. I’m not risking it again,” Albus said sternly. 

“Albus, if she wants to go, just let her,” Alastor said. “We could use the help.” 

“He’s right, Albus,” Minerva said. “We’re already low on people.” 

Albus glared at her. “You’re not participating in this mission and that is final,” he ordered and Minerva sighed. 

“I’ll be here, if you need anything,” she said, resigned. “I’ll notify the rest of the Order.” 

Albus nodded and she sent Patronuses out, including one to Ro that she most wouldn’t be back until late that night.

“No, I need you at Hogwarts,” Albus said, pulling out his wand. Minerva nodded, quietly leaving the room as the two men deliberated and waited for the rest of the Order to show up.

Amelia would be out of her mind. 

Minerva headed back to Hogwarts, settled into the Headmaster’s Office, and went through her marking as if it was any other night, as if one of her friends hadn’t just been kidnapped by Death Eaters, as if it wasn’t all her fault. 

She couldn’t sleep so she didn’t. 

Albus came back in the morning, just as the sun was about to rise. Minerva immediately stood up, almost pushing her chair to the floor. 

“What happened?” 

“She’s been captured,” Albus replied, tired. His robes were dirty and matted. “We’re trying to work out an agreement.” 

“She’s alive,” Minerva said. 

“Yes, she is,” Albus replied and Minerva sat back in relief. 

“How long is this going to last?” Minerva asked absentmindedly, staring out the window with nothing but dread in her stomach. 

“I don’t know,” was all Albus said and she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, that was Albus’ answer for most things. 

She left the office and crawled into bed with Ro for a scant few more hours of sleep, warm against her wife. 

Minerva had yet to stand by Albus in battle, in a proper fight, and sometimes, just sometimes, she forgot that one of her closest friends was also one of the most powerful wizards of all time. 

She didn’t forget tonight. 

They were back to back, standing in the middle of a field that was just near a small village right outside of Liverpool. Minerva’s spells came fast and quick, strong and harsh, bright lights of red, green, and blue. Her wandwork was precise, pristine, exact. 

If she thought she was good, she hadn’t seen Albus. 

He was swift, solid, moving with languidly with a direct sense of purpose. Albus knew what he was doing, even if it seemed that sometimes, he didn’t. 

Voldemort had yet to show up, but Minerva could sense it tonight. 

There weren’t very many times where Albus was in battle. He would be here tonight, she knew. 

Her arm ached and her back twisted and she was tired but they were out on another mission doing God knows what because Minerva was too exhausted half the time to really pay proper attention at meetings and because Albus never really told her anything in the first place. 

She spotted Remus and Lily out of the corner of her eye and her heart hurt, just seeing them there, moving with a fluidity that was beyond their years and hurling spells that were beyond their talents. 

Looking at Lily, with her long, red hair tied up into a neat braid, all she could see was young Harry, wondered what he was doing right now, if he was flying around on his broom or if he was playing with Elvendork or if James was with him right now or maybe it was Sirius or Peter or Bathilda from across the street. 

She was reminded of the future that they were fighting for, the Isobels and Bobbies and Harrys and Nevilles of tomorrow, of the next generation of students that she hoped that she would live to see them walk through the hallowed halls, without a care in the world, without a war. 

_ “Reducto!”  _

_ “Avada Kedrava!” _

The magic almost seemed to hum in the air, to vibrate, and Minerva’s hand tightened around her wand and she steadied herself and brought down two more Death Eaters while Albus was fending off the curses from their right. 

When everything seemed to die down, when Minerva was gasping and on her knees, the smoke cleared and Albus was standing right in the middle of it, with Voldemort across from him. 

He seemed small, next to Albus, whose beard was flowing in the wind, like a saviour, like a hero, and Minerva’s heart softened a little and she wondered how many people she was going to lose to their war, how many she had to give up. 

Albus moved carefully, moved slowly as Minerva picked a beaten and bloodied Remus off the ground and ordered him and Lily to Apparate immediately to Headquarters. They nodded and left in a flash. Minerva slowly instructed the rest of the Order to do the same, watching as Amelia and Emmeline and Arthur and not for the first time, she was very, very glad that Rolanda wasn’t in the Order. 

Soon, it was just her, Albus, and Voldemort as the dust settled and his eyes gleamed red and Albus raised his wand and Minerva didn’t quite know what happened after. 

Voldemort was gone and Albus was on the ground and Minerva didn’t know, she didn’t fucking know what— 

“Albus!” 

Her voice was shrill and loud and Voldemort wasn’t there and Albus was lying prone on the ground, his hair fanned out around him almost like a halo and he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t breathing—

Minerva found a pulse and her breath quickened. 

She was gone in a flicker and a pop and the hardest her heart had ever pounded in her life. 

There were so many people that she’d lost, that they’d lost. So many lives gone, whole families and friends and people that were loved, that are loved, with futures and entire roads ahead of them. 

If Voldemort was still alive, if Albus hadn’t ended him right there, a rage was rekindled in Minerva that she hadn’t felt since the beginning of the war, where they all believed that it would be an easy fight, where their meetings were filled with friends and family and acquaintances that would grow to become much, much, more than that. 

Minerva was going to give it her all, even if that included her. For Isobel, for Bobbie, for Harry, for Neville, for Rolanda, for Albus, for Mother and Papa and Malcolm and Theodora and their child that was coming and Pomona and Robert and Kathleen and Amelia and Emmeline and all the people that touched her life, that had brought it joy and fear and love and everything in between. 

Albus was heavy in her arms but he was breathing, he was breathing, and his heart was beating and that was enough. Enough for Minerva. Enough for them. 

It had to be. 

Voldemort was weakened, they knew, after that battle with Albus. Albus, was also injured. He never said anything specific about the extent of said injuries—not that Minerva really expected him to—but he buried himself into his notes and his studying or whatever the hell he did up in that tower of his until Minerva dragged him out for a glass of Scotch and a game of chess.

“I hope for many more of these to come,” he said quietly, playing his rook. Minerva gave him a small smile. 

“As do I,” she replied, taking his pawn and another sip of her drink. 

“There are times where I think that the end is coming,” he mused, sitting back in his chair. “And there are times where I think that it will never end.”

Minerva just nodded. 

“I think,” he said slowly, looking carefully at her. “We may just get lucky.” 

Minerva raised her eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“I can’t say why,” he said cryptically and Minerva resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “But we need to find the spy before we move forward.”

“Of course,” she replied, sitting up straighter. “And how do you suppose we do that?” 

Albus just swirled his drink in his hand. 

“I have no clue.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” Minerva quipped and Albus laughed loudly, throwing his head back. It’d been a long she’d heard him laugh. It’d been a long time since she’d laughed. 

“Alas, there are often more questions than answers in this world,” he said and he sounded like the Professor that Minerva had sat diligently listening to in Transfiguration, the man that she had remembered from her Hogwarts years and Minerva wished, maybe just a second, just a minute, she could go back, where there was no war, no death, no pain, and the largest problem she had was Amelia and Quidditch and flying in the mornings.

“You want to go flying?” Minerva asked, tilting her head. Albus chuckled.

“Do you want to see my plummeting to the Earth?”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Come on, you can’t be that bad.” 

“I assure you, my dear, I am.” 

Minerva just raised her eyebrow and stood up, holding out her hand. 

“Come on,” she insisted. 

Albus studied her carefully, the twinkle back in his eye that Minerva hadn’t seen in a long, long time. 

“If I die, everyone will know that it was your fault,” he said, looking at her over his glasses. 

“I shall just frame it on You-Know-Who,” she replied, head up as she led them through the halls, to her office and grabbing two brooms, and then all the way up to the Astronomy Tower. 

“Is my memory serving me correctly or did you and Amelia not break curfew consistently to do this?” Albus questioned her as she handed him a broomstick with a grin.

“You’d be correct,” she said, swinging one leg over and hopping on. “Come on, you can’t be that bad.” 

Albus looked hesitantly at the broom. 

“Have I found the one thing that Albus Dumbledore cannot do?” Minerva teased and he frowned, carefully mounting the stick. 

“Not everyone had the great fortune nor talent to be Gryffindor’s star Chaser,” he retorted, meticulously gripping the handle and Minerva just laughed and soared off into the evening, the October breeze cold and strong against her cheeks, as if she was in sixth year again, with Amelia by her side and not a care in the world. 

There was no war, there was no death, it was just Minerva and her broom and well, Albus lagging behind her. She swooped down and around, joining up beside him. 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he said seriously, almost wobbling and Minerva stifled the urge to laugh. 

“You’re not awful,” she said politely and he just glared at her. “Come on, one lap around the school and we’re done.” 

“Absolutely not,” Albus said, already heading back for the Astronomy Tower and Minerva laughed this time, dipping and flying around the school in the time it took Albus to reach the ledge of the Tower, sitting on it, swinging his legs back and forth like a child. 

Minerva hopped off her broom with ease, flicking a strand of hair out of her face and sat beside him. 

“I often wonder why you seem to like this so much,” Albus mused, looking out over the grounds.

“Why don’t you guess?” she asked with a smile. 

“Ah, something I am much better at,” he said, tapping his fingers against his chin. Minerva chuckled. “Even if you did grow up with the knowledge of magic, you were never able to quite practice it at home, am I correct?” 

Minerva nodded. “That you are.” 

“Flying is a freedom. I suppose I can understand to some extent, but mind you, I wasn’t quite as responsible as you were as a child,” he mused, his eyes almost glazing over, as if he was looking years and years into the past. 

“Albus,” Minerva said softly, leaning against him. “You can’t blame that on yourself.” 

He just patted her leg. “Just because I know that doesn’t mean it stops, does it?” 

Minerva was silent. 

“No, no it doesn’t,” she said after a while. “It doesn’t.” 

“I can’t promise that I’ll be here by the end of all this,” Albus said softly. “But I want you to know that you have been a great friend, Minerva.”

“No,” Minerva said quickly. “No, we’re not contemplating that. I refuse.” 

Albus looked at her with sad eyes. “Do not think that I do not appreciate your work and your talent and your great gift of protecting the ones that you love,” he continued, ignoring her outburst. “Do not think I do not know what you have given up to support this.” 

“You’re not dying,” Minerva said sternly, as if she was telling off a student. Albus laughed softly. 

“We don’t know that,” he replied, quiet. Minerva blinked and bit her lip. 

“It’s not happening,” she said. “You’re not dying.” 

Albus just nodded and let her rest her head on his shoulder. 

“Okay,” he replied. “Okay.” 

They watched as the moon shone over the grounds of Hogwarts, over Hagrid’s little cabin, over the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake and the Quidditch Pitch and Minerva had never been gladder to call a place home. 

She went back to her rooms that night, where Rolanda was waiting, flipping through a book as she came in. 

“Good evening,” she greeted with a smile, placing the novel down. Minerva leaned over and kissed her softly. Ro raised an eyebrow and grinned at her.

“What’s the good mood?” she teased, pulling her onto the couch and kissing her harder. 

“Nothing,” Minerva replied against her lips. “Had a Scotch with Albus.” 

“Is that why you took two brooms with you?” she asked, raising her wand and placing them back into the closet. 

“Maybe,” Minerva said, just kissing Ro again. 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Ro said, laughing a little. “I’m surprised you didn’t fall from the sky.” 

“I’m a better flier than Albus,” Minerva retorted, heading into the bedroom. Ro snorted. 

“You’re a better flier than most people, Minerva,” she said knowingly as she placed her hands on Minerva’s shoulders, watching them in the mirror on their vanity. “We look lovingly queer, don’t we?”

Minerva rolled her eyes and took off her earrings, setting them into the jewelry box. She held out her left hand, admiring her ring. 

“We do, don’t we?” 

Ro just leaned down and kissed her. 

They crawled into bed warm against each other, hands side by side, rings glinting in the light. 

“The greatest thing I’ve ever done was marry you,” Minerva whispered, her eyes drooping shut. 

“Mmm, I know,” Ro replied. “Because it was also mine.” 

“I love you,” Minerva added, her voice heavy. 

“I love you too.” 

When Minerva first heard the rumour, she didn’t believe it. It was why she found herself, in her Animagus form, on a muggle stone wall of all things, watching this ridiculous family blunder through their day and she wondered how on Earth Lily was related to these people.

She’d mentioned it to Rolanda that morning before she left, while Ro just scoffed and told her that she was wasting her time but she couldn’t find Albus anywhere and it was a Saturday and well, Minerva didn’t have anything else to do.

So, here she was, as a cat on a garden wall. 

There were owls everywhere and fireworks half the time and Minerva didn’t want to believe it so she didn’t. 

Albus appeared just around ten in the evening, when the streets were dark and he darkened them even more. 

When Albus nodded and patted her on the shoulder, Minerva’s felt something in her chest stop. 

She blinked rapidly, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. All she could see was young Harry, flying around on his tiny broom, giggling as Elvendork whipped his tail in his face, chasing the fluffy cat around. 

The night wasn’t particularly cold, but Minerva was. 

Harry was small to begin with, but in Hagrid’s arms, he was the smallest Minerva’d ever seen him, even when he was just born. 

The Boy Who Lived. Minerva should’ve felt joy, should’ve felt relief, should’ve felt something jubilant that the war was over, that it was all over, but there was nothing but sorrow in her chest. 

She thought about James’ bright smile and Lily’s chatter and how they loved each other and their son and how young they were, just barely children themselves. 

She wanted to scream when Albus left the boy on the doorstep with a  _ letter _ of all things, to shout to wake the entire street, to insist that there must’ve been  _ better _ options—

But Minerva’s bones ached and her heart hurt and her exhaustion crept through her entire existence and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Rolanda and ignore the entire world, this stupid, stupid world that had traded evil with youth. 

She Apparated with a pop and appeared in front of their cottage—

Smoke filled her lungs. 

Minerva raced towards the house, faster than she ever had, screaming, her voice loud in the air, the smoke was everywhere, the  _ fire—  _

(Where) 

was Rolanda? 

Rolanda, Rolanda, _ Ro— _

She reached the front door and the sky fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay before you strangle me in the comments: i really did want to keep rolanda around and since this story sticks to canon pretty closely, it wasn't originally my plan to do so. however, just as the story progressed, i simply couldn't find a way to write her out properly. i hope you won't mind this deviation from canon and won't murder me too much ;) 
> 
> we're officially at the end of part two! thank you so much to everyone that has commented and kudoed and read this work all the way up to here—it's almost at 100k and that's just. so insane. unfortunately, as school is piling up, i will need to move updating dates one more day, so instead of the every two days it will be every three days for part three. we're making our way to the end and thank you so much for all of your support <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for a small mention of suicidal ideation and heavy themes of dealing with grief throughout.

**PART III - POPPY**

“What happens when you get older is that you get over it. You buy flowers to set on the table. You say your prayers. You learn to live alone the way you learned to love everything not dead.” —Sean Thomas Dougherty, “The Men and the Quiet” 

* * *

Rolanda was buried on a cold, November morning as the sun settled over the horizon, peaking through the Scottish mist. 

Minerva watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground, the magic glowing gold. Martha was beside her, sniffing quietly and clutching onto Rolanda’s brother’s hand. The early wind was harsh against her cheek. 

Her ring glinted in the low light and Minerva twisted the band, burning it against her finger.

The funeral was sparse. Amelia, Augusta, and Emmeline were in the second row. Albus was around somewhere too, Minerva was sure, but she also found that she didn’t really care.

Martha spoke for a couple of minutes, followed by Rolanda’s brother. Minerva found that she couldn’t look him in the eye, lest she see Ro. 

Minerva didn’t speak and Rolanda was lowered into the cold ground, the headstone new and polished, her name etched carefully into the marble, almost shining. 

Ro always wished to be buried near her cottage. She mentioned it early on in their relationship and Minerva had laughed, asking her if she wanted to come back as a ghost and haunt the place as well. 

Later, Minerva changed her will to match. To rest beside Ro. 

The house was still in ruins, torn and ripped apart and Ro was laid to rest right at the bottom of the small hill that eclipsed their home. 

There wasn’t much she remembered from that day other than, a little stupidly, the weather. The air was damp on her skin. Wet, almost. 

The crowd eventually filtered out and Minerva was left standing at the grave with Augusta by her side. 

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” she asked, matter-of-fact. 

“I’ve been at Hogwarts,” Minerva replied, voice firm. Augusta just raised an eyebrow. 

“Somewhere other than a drafty old castle filled with students,” she quipped. 

“It’s okay, Augusta,” Minerva said, quieter. She forced a small smile. “You don’t need to take care of me.” 

“Have you ever considered that I know how it feels?”

Minerva just stared at Ro’s name. 

Augusta reached over and grabbed her hand. It was warm and strong. 

“I’m sorry,” Minerva whispered, leaning her head on Augusta’s shoulder. “I forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” 

Minerva sniffed and felt her eyes burn up. 

“It’s just,” she faltered. 

“It’s okay,” Augusta replied. “I know.” 

Minerva nodded and they just stood there, as the sun slowly rose and the mist lifted. 

“My guest room is always open,” Augusta said after a while. She squeezed Minerva’s hand and Minerva squeezed it back. 

“Thank you,” she said. “But I need to see my family first.” 

Augusta nodded and looked at her carefully. “Stop by later, okay?” 

Minerva was about to protest, about to say how much work she had at Hogwarts, but Augusta’s eyes were bright and Minerva patted her arm. 

“Okay,” she said softly and Augusta hugged her tight before she Apparated with a snap and Minerva was left alone with a gravestone, shattered home, and empty chest. With a turn and a flick, she was gone and reappeared in Caithness, right outside of her childhood home. 

Her knock was crisp and clean and Mother answered, dressed in a shawl and looking rather tired. 

“Minerva?” 

“How old was I when you told me about magic?” she questioned, holding onto her wand in her left pocket. 

“Five,” Mother replied sternly, ushering her in. “What happened? Is something wrong?” 

“Are Isobel and Bobbie around?” Minerva asked in lieu of answering, looking into the living room. Mother gave her a concerned look. 

“They’re both upstairs,” she replied. “Minerva, what happened?” 

Mother grabbed onto her shoulders and looked her right in the eye, soft and stern at the same time. 

“I—” 

Minerva faltered, just standing in the doorway of the place she had grown up in, the home that she had left and gone out to make one for herself.

“Minerva?” 

“I—” 

She collapsed, falling to knees as she felt Mother’s arms around her. 

“Oh Minerva,” Mother lamented, holding onto her tight, like she was a child again. 

“Ro was murdered,” she choked, gasping as she teared up and felt the air suffocating her. “They killed her—right outside of our—”

Minerva couldn’t continue. Mother just rocked her back and forth, as they sat on the floor. Mother ran her hand through Minerva’s hair, pulling it from its bun, almost like she was going to brush through it carefully when Minerva was a young girl.

“She was dead before I was even home, right after—” 

“Shhh,” Mother hummed. Her hands were warm and she smelled like the soap that she used to clean up Minerva’s bloody knees and battered elbows when she was six. 

Minerva clutched onto her. 

“Minerva?” a voice asked from the stairwell and Minerva glanced up, eyes red and face flushed to see Papa leaning on a cane and looking at the two of them with a furrowed brow. “Lass, what happened?” 

Mother pulled Minerva up and she wiped her eyes, sniffing as she leaned in and kissed Papa on the cheek. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said, trying to regain as much of her composure as possible. Papa’s frown deepened but didn’t say anything as Minerva looped her arm through his and walked them to the living room while Mother busied herself in the kitchen. 

“Lass, what happened? Was it—oh God, it’s Malcolm, he’s—”

“No, Malcolm is fine,” Minerva reassured as they both sat down on the couch. “Malcolm and Theodora and Kathleen and the children are all fine.” 

Papa sighed of relief but grabbed onto her hand, looking at her intently. 

“Lass, I can count the number of times I’ve seen you cry on one hand,” he said bluntly, looking at her carefully. Minerva sighed and pinched her nose. 

“Rolanda was murdered,” she said, calmly and cooly. Papa’s eyes grew sad. 

“Oh lass,” he said, sitting closer. “I’m so sorry.” 

Minerva just closed her eyes and sat back. Papa held onto her hand. 

“Do you think it would help if we prayed for her?” 

Minerva was quiet. 

“Okay,” she said after a while and Papa turned to face her and took both of her hands into his. 

And they prayed. 

Minerva avoided everything but her work, from Augusta to Albus to Pomona to Malcolm to The Prophet to her owls to Poppy to anyone who asked her how the hell she was doing and if she needed anything and if she should reach out and Minerva just wanted to scream at it all, to yell her lungs until they were coarse, to curse God and everything that He had done, to resurrect Voldemort from the dead or wherever the hell he was to pummel him over and over and over and over and over again. 

But more than anything, more than anything in the entire world, Minerva wanted Ro back. She wanted her bed warm again, she wanted the singing in her kitchen, she wanted the fire burning as they sat together, she wanted everything that they had that she knew would slip through her fingers if she wasn’t careful and fucking hell she wasn’t. 

Should’ve spent that day at home. Should’ve stayed. Should’ve fucking _ stayed.  _

Something heavy settled into her chest, like a sinking stone, a hotel metal rod. Minerva didn’t know how to make it go away. 

She couldn’t take off her ring and wondered if she ever would be able to. 

She wanted Ro back. 

“Minerva?” 

“Come in,” she called, scratching out yet another grammar mistake and brushing her hair out of her face. “Pomona, you know that I’m incredibly busy and I—”

“I didn’t know Pomona was bothering you these days,” Albus quietly said and Minerva’s neck snapped up. 

Albus raised an eyebrow and sat down in the empty chair across from her, folding his hands in his lap. 

“What do you need?” Minerva asked, somewhat brusquely. “I have a lot of marking to get through—” 

“Minerva,” Albus repeated firmly and Minerva set her quill aside, looking at him tiredly. 

“I’m in no mood for anything Ministry-related and if it is, you can just leave it here and see yourself out,” she said, taking off her glasses and pinching her nose. 

“It’s Order-related,” Albus said, giving her a sad glance. Minerva almost scoffed. 

“Don’t give me that look,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I don’t want your pity, Albus.” 

“It’s concern, Minerva,” he said, reaching over and grabbing her hand. His grip was strong. “You can’t bury yourself in work.” 

Minerva sniffed and opened her eyes. “Who said I was doing that?” 

Albus just raised an eyebrow. “I take it that you haven’t read The Prophet recently?” 

Minerva shook her head. 

“Sirius betrayed the Potters,” Albus said calmly and Minerva’s jaw dropped. 

“What?” 

“As you remember, the Potters and Longbottoms went into hiding,” Albus explained and Minerva nodded, still comprehending what Albus had just said. “Sirius was the Potters’ Secret Keeper and Augusta for Frank and Alice.” 

Minerva nodded again, slower. 

“Sirius was our spy,” Albus said, defeated. He ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes.

“No,” Minerva said. “There’s no way, Sirius Black wouldn’t have betrayed James, Albus, that’s impossible—” 

“He and Peter Pettigrew duelled that night,” Albus continued, cutting her off. “Sirius killed twelve muggles.” 

Minerva gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “An-and Peter?”

“Nothing left but a finger.” 

Minerva just sat there, trying to process anything Albus had just said. 

“So,” she began slowly, “Sirius was the spy.” 

Albus nodded, solemn. 

“All this time, we suspected—” 

Albus nodded again. His face was grim. Minerva leaned forward, placing her head in her hands. 

“Does it ever end?” she asked, quiet. 

“I don’t know,” was all Albus said. 

Minerva moved what was left of her things from the burnt cottage back to her rooms at Hogwarts. She’d left the house as it was. 

Before, there were so many things that she’d wanted. Robert back. The war to end. Her students safe. All the ones that they’d lost home again.

Now, there was only one thing. 

If at night, Minerva told herself that she wouldn’t have traded Rolanda for the end of the war, it was what she told herself. 

There was a picture of them in 1969 sitting on the nightstand that Minerva had turned around. 

Ro’s clothes were still in her closet. They had yet to hire another flying instructor. Minerva fished out a pack of cigarettes from her desk drawer and blew through half of it before she knew what she was doing. 

It was still November and the air was cold coming in through her window and the office was dark and it was quiet and it was so fucking empty and there were so many things that Minerva wanted but only really one of them that she would give up anything for. 

She let the cigarette dangle from her fingers, the ash falling gently and her ring glinting in the dim light. 

“You know that those are awful for you, right?” 

Minerva flinched and immediately pulled out her wand before Augusta stepped out from behind the door and gave her a grin. Minerva sighed and stood up to greet her.

“The kind of candy you ordered first year on the Express?” Minerva asked, smiling. Augusta smirked. 

“Chocolate frogs,” she replied, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her on the cheek. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“To keep you from moping around in here along,” Augusta quipped, pulling out her wand and giving it a wave. A bottle of scotch appeared in midair and she plucked it out, along with two heavyset glasses. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh?” 

“No talking, just drinking,” Augusta said, pouring her a healthy dose and Minerva smiled. 

“You know me so well,” Minerva replied, clinking her glass with Augusta’s as they both sat down in the armchairs in front of the fire. Minerva raised a hand and drew up the flames. 

“To an awful year,” Augusta toasted. 

“An awful year,” Minerva replied and took a sip. It burned down her throat and Minerva relished in it. 

They sat there in silence as the night waned and the fire burned and Minerva reached over and grabbed Augusta’s hand. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said after a while. 

“I’m glad to be here,” Augusta replied, giving her a soft smile. The fire burned brightly. 

“Severus Snape?” 

“Yes,” Albus replied calmly, not even looking up from his paperwork when Minerva barged into his office after having sent his newest staff addition. 

“The Death Eater,” she added, glaring at him. 

“He has been cleared of all charges,” Albus said, crossing something out on his scroll before putting down his quill and looking at Minerva over his glasses. “He will be valuable to our staff.” 

“Albus,” Minerva said slowly. “This is not happening.” 

“It is,” he replied firmly. 

“We cannot have a Death Eater teaching our students!” 

“Former,” Albus said. 

“What are parents going to think?” 

“Whatever they’d like.” 

“Albus!” 

“This is final, Minerva.” 

“Albus, I’m sure these past few weeks have been stressful, can—” 

“This is not up for debate, Minerva.” 

“Fine.” 

“You will welcome him in the New Year. He will begin next term.” 

Minerva, at the request—though it really was an order—of Albus, took her Christmas break two days early and landed at her parents’ home because she couldn’t go back to the cottage and Albus had said that she needed to get out of the castle and Augusta was busy with Frank, Alice, and young Neville. 

Kathleen, along with Isobel and Bobbie were arriving a couple days later, along with Malcolm and his wife and Minerva’s new nephew, Thomas. 

The manse was warm, as always, and Minerva cooped up in her childhood bedroom, with its beaten up desk and its once-empty bookshelves that had been cleared when she moved out, only to be replaced with dozens of Papa’s notes and writings and sermons. 

Minerva would’ve fished through them, read through every page. She would’ve helped Mother with dinner and cleaned up the living room and prepped the beds for the rest of her family. 

She didn’t. 

Albus didn’t let her bring any of her work, any of her marking. 

There was no trace of Rolanda in this room. 

This was a Minerva before Ro. This was a Minerva before Amelia, even. A Minerva before Augusta. A Minerva before Hogwarts, before magic. 

As much as she missed Ro, it was in moments like these that her heart panged for Robert. His bright laughter in the backyard, chasing around Malcolm. His silly faces at dinnertime, the teasing. 

He was so young. They were all so young. 

The war had done nothing but take and take and take and take and take. 

“Minerva!” Mother called and she went downstairs, joining Mother in the kitchen and quietly preparing the tomatoes and vegetables. 

“Hey lass,” Papa said after they finished up, gesturing towards her. “Come with me.” 

Minerva frowned but followed him obediently to the front door, helping him with his coat and donning her own. “Come for a walk with me.”

Minerva nodded and discretely cast a Warming Charm as the cold air gushed into their faces as they stepped out onto the street. 

Much had changed since Minerva was a young girl—the streetlights glowed their artificial beams and the road, while poorly-paved, was better than the dirt one that Minerva had grown up playing on. Cars littered the sideways and while the other houses were still quite old-fashioned, Minerva could feel the changes, seeping right into the bones. Caithness had grown, just like she had. 

“This way,” Papa instructed, pointing his cane down the street and Minerva led them down, walking silently as it snowed softly. 

They came to the end of the street, just eclipsed by the mountain. There was an old, rickety bench and an even older oil-lamp. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“They didn’t replace this one?” 

“No,” Papa replied, heading over before Minerva, his figure silhouetted by the waning moonlight. Minerva followed him, her footsteps lingering in the snow. “Here,” Papa said, handing her a match. Minerva gave a small smile. 

She carefully lit the match, raising it to the oil-lamp. It was rusted but the wick remained in the middle and Minerva watched as the flame slowly grew, flickering in the dark. 

They both sat down on the bench and Minerva waved her hand to reinforce it, just in case. Papa hummed a little, as they sat there, watching the lamp. 

Before, they could’ve seen the entire town from here. Now, it was clear how much Caithness had grown. How much had changed. 

“I should’ve visited more,” Minerva whispered, as her eyes swept over the streets and marketplaces. 

“I’m glad you’re here now, lass,” Papa replied, placing an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve missed you, Minerva.”

“I missed you too,” Minerva said, quiet, grabbing onto Papa’s hand. 

“You loved her,” Papa commented, looking into Minerva’s eyes. Minerva leaned back. 

“Yes. Yes. I did,” she whispered. “I do.” 

“I would’ve liked to have seen you get married,” Papa said. Minerva closed her eyes. 

“We were going to do a larger ceremony after the war,” she said. 

“I’m so sorry, lass.” 

“I miss her so much.” 

“I know, lass.” 

Minerva just leaned into Papa’s embrace. 

The snow came down harder. 

“Come on, let’s get back before your mother wonders if we’ve died in the cold,” Papa quipped, getting up and holding out a hand for Minerva. She laughed a little and they walked all the way home, to Mother’s wonderful cooking and the home that she had grown up in, the place that she discovered magic and love and family and everything in between. 

In a couple of days, her niece and nephews and brother and sisters-in-laws would be coming with Christmas on their heels but today, it was just Minerva and Papa and Mother, almost like it was when she was nothing more than a small girl and the entire world was in the cup of her hand. 

Mother tutted at both of them when they shivered coming back in and scolded Papa for going out in such cold but Minerva was the warmest she’d been in a while. 

She told both of them how much she loved them because you never knew when you didn’t have any time left. 

She thought she had all the days with Ro. 

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

“Aunt Min!” Frank greeted, opening the door and ushering her in from the cold. “We’re so glad you could make it.” 

Minerva smiled and hugged him as he kissed her on the cheek. “Anything to see this little one again,” she teased, waving at young Neville who giggled and gave her a joyful smile.

“Say hello to your Aunt Min,” Frank instructed, holding up Neville’s hand and waving it at her. 

“Hi-hi!” he said and Minerva’s heart melted, just a little. He then squirmed, leaning out of his father’s arms towards Minerva. 

“Here, allow me,” Minerva offered, taking Neville into her arms as Frank rushed back into the kitchen as Alice called his name. He gave her a grateful smile and Minerva rested Neville on her hip, bouncing him slightly. 

“Come on, let’s follow your dad, hm?” 

Neville smacked her face with his small hand and Minerva just grinned, making her way into the kitchen where Alice was waving her wand everywhere and Frank was cleaning up the counter. 

“When is your mother coming?” Minerva asked, hefting Neville up onto the table. 

“She should be here any minute now,” Alice replied. “Thanks so much for agreeing to watch Neville for the evening, Minerva.” 

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Minerva replied, discretely moving her hand to direct a cup from shattering on the floor. “I’m more than happy to do it.”

There was a prim knock on the door and Frank rushed for it, as Alice finished up in the kitchen and Minerva played with her magic for Neville, who watched the colourful sparks and rays explode right in front of him. 

With a pang, Minerva was distinctly reminded of young Krista, Edgar Bones’ youngest daughter who had also perished in the fire that awful night. Minerva could almost smell the smoke and snapped herself out of it as she watched Neville clap his hands together in delight. 

Augusta came into the room in a flurry of robes and bags, setting them on the ground as she greeted Minerva with a kiss on the cheek. Frank and Alice both said their goodbyes before leaving—with a big hug for Neville and then promptly running Augusta and Minerva through everything they could possibly know about looking after Neville for a couple of hours. 

“Frank,” Augusta said patiently, interrupting her son. “I raised you.” 

“Yes, Mum, of course—” 

“Hush,” Minerva said, cutting him off. “We’ve both been around long enough to care for Neville for a night. Go and enjoy your date.” 

Frank and Alice both blushed and left with a wave and Minerva laughed a little as she watched them Disapparate at the end of the property. 

“Sometimes I forget how much they’ve grown,” Minerva commented, walking back into living room with Neville on her hip. “Before long, we’ll be seeing you at Hogwarts, won’t we?” 

Augusta rolled her eyes and they placed Neville on his play-mat, enchanting his toys to fly around above him. The young boy giggled and clapped his hands.

“More, more!” 

Minerva grinned and obliged, adding a flying broomstick with a miniature Quidditch player on it to swoop around him. 

“Just because you love Quidditch doesn’t mean that you have to brainwash him into it too,” Augusta commented, sitting down on the couch beside Minerva. She rolled her eyes.

“Would love to start prepping the Gryffindor team, however,” Minerva replied and Augusta just laughed. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it, to focus on such trivial things again?” 

Minerva nodded. There were days where she wished that she could focus on only trivial things. 

“How do you cope with it?” she asked after a while, as the two of them watched Neville entertain himself with his pile of toys that he dug through. 

Augusta leaned back, holding her head up with her hand. 

“There are days where I think he’s still going to walk in through the front door,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I wake up in the middle of night and forget that he’s not there.” 

Minerva reached over and patted her thigh. 

“But those moments become less,” Augusta continued. “I don’t think they’ll ever leave, but they subside.” 

“I don’t know how to live with it,” Minerva whispered, almost like a confession. 

“You will,” Augusta said frankly. “What other choice do we have?” 

“She’s everywhere,” Minerva said, hollow. “Sometimes I’m glad that the cottage burned, because I can’t stand it. That she’s everywhere but not with me.”

“Start small,” Augusta advised. “A photograph on the mantel. Maybe, one day, we’ll be able to take their things out of the boxes.” 

“Maybe,” Minerva lamented. “I need a drink.” 

Augusta laughed. “After this one goes to bed.” 

Minerva grinned and she transformed into her cat form, leaping onto the floor to join Neville, smiling as he ran his hands through her fur, his eyes bright with astonishment and glee. 

The evening slowly waned and after dinner, Neville almost fell asleep at the table and Augusta swept him up, settling him into his crib and Minerva greeted her with a glass of wine and raised the fire in the hearth. 

“Tell me about her,” Augusta said as they both sat down on the couch and Minerva set an Alarming Charm on Neville’s room. 

Minerva frowned. “You knew Rolanda.” 

“Yes, of course,” Augusta replied, waving her hand. “But I want to hear you talk about her.” 

Minerva swallowed, gulping. Her hand shook a little. “I—” 

“You should,” Augusta encouraged. “It’s what you did for me.”

Minerva nodded, taking a deep breath. “She was the love of my life,” she simply said. “I don’t know if I could ever love like that again.” 

Augusta took a sip of her drink and nodded. 

“The bed is always cold,” Minerva continued. “She was always too warm. Complained about how warm the castle was sometimes and you know how cold that godforsaken place is.” 

Augusta laughed and patted her hand. “I think I froze to death in our sixth year.” 

“I think you were too busy snogging Frank then,” Minerva teased and Augusta grinned. 

“That I was,” she said, her eyes glittering. “Continue, with Rolanda.” 

“Well,” Minerva began slowly. “I was so glad she wasn’t in the Order.” 

Augusta nodded. 

“I’m glad you weren’t either,” Minerva added, looking Augusta in the eye. “I didn’t know how I could tell you, that day.” 

“I don’t remember much of it anyways,” Augusta replied, waving her hand and nearly spilling her drink. 

“I do,” said Minerva. “Watching him fall—I just knew.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I miss her so much,” Minerva whispered. She took a sip of her wine. “It aches.” 

“I know.” 

“How did you keep going?” 

“I have a son and daughter-in-law and grandson,” Augusta replied, matter-of-fact. 

“I don’t.” 

Augusta reached over and grabbed her hand. 

“Sometimes, I wish we had a family,” Minerva said. “There were times I could almost see it, a young boy or girl with Rolanda’s hair or my eyes.” 

Minerva sniffed. “But with the war, I had never been so glad it wasn’t possible for us.” 

Augusta nodded. 

“God, Gussie,” Minerva said, almost choking back a sob. “How do you live with it?” 

“I just do,” Augusta replied. Her eyes were bright. “You just do.” 

Minerva was quiet. 

“There is not a day that passes where I don’t miss Frank,” Augusta said. “And I don’t think that will change.” 

Minerva nodded. 

“And quite honestly, I don’t want that to change. We move on,” Augusta continued. “We keep on living.” 

Minerva sniffed and closed her eyes. 

“I don’t know if I want to,” she whispered. 

“You will,” Augusta said fiercely, grabbing Minerva by the shoulders and staring her her right in the eye. “You will, Minerva.” 

Minerva blinked. 

“You’re not copping out on me yet, McGonagall,” Augusta said with such intensity that Minerva wanted to cry. “I’m going to refer you to a Mind Healer I spoke with after Frank died. She specialises with grief.” 

Minerva blinked again. 

“I—”

“Minerva,” Augusta said seriously. “You’re going to see her. Healer Johnson originally worked in the Muggle field until she was offered a position at St. Mungo’s.” 

Minerva nodded, unable to say anything. Augusta looked at her intently. 

“We learn to live with it,” Augusta repeated, holding onto her hand. “We learn to live with it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, i am so, so sorry about the late update. this chapter was such a hard one to write and for the first time ever, i made myself tear up with my own writing! i hope you enjoyed this one and let me know what you thought. hopefully, the next update will come in three days time (though i can't make any promises) and thank you for sticking with this story. 
> 
> we're at the start of part three and over 100k! that's crazy. i just want to say here that i don't leave projects unfinished—i always, _always_ come back to them, so if i disappear like this again, don't worry! i will be back. thanks again for reading and comments and kudos always make an author smile :)


	22. Chapter 22

Minerva quit smoking. She saw her therapist twice a month. She moved back into her rooms at Hogwarts. She spent time with her family, the Longbottoms, Amelia, shared the occasional drink with Albus. She went to class and taught the spells and theories and ideas that she’d memorized since she was seventeen. She didn’t visit the cottage. Maybe, one day, years into the future, she’d be able to stop by Ro’s grave. 

She watched as Isobel was sorted into Ravenclaw with a bright smile on her face and paid Malcolm ten galleons for losing their bet. She spent Christmases at her parents’ house and visited more often. She stopped by for holidays, weekends, whenever she could. 

She spent her time marking, trying to welcome Severus into the staff, finish filing the papers that Albus always seemed to leave for last minute, collecting information for the Order that had yet to be disbanded because there were still Death Eaters in hiding. 

She watched Neville take his first steps and say his first words, as Frank and Alice beamed and Augusta wiped away a tear as Minerva teased her but on the inside, Minerva was crying too. 

She answered Bobbie’s questions about why Aunt Ro wasn’t coming back and Isobel’s solemn stares. Sometimes, she’d forgotten that they’d grown up in a war too. 

It was hard to keep track of it all. 

There were days where she woke up and didn’t want to. There were days where she would turn to Apparate back to the cottage because she’d remembered that Ro would be there. There were days that she would walk into her chambers and call out her name. 

And every night, Minerva stayed on her side of the bed. 

As Augusta had advised, she started with a photograph. 

It was harder than she’d expected. She had to keep it turned around most days. 

Sometimes, she was tempted to give her notice and just leave to God-knows-where. What she should’ve done with Ro. 

They could’ve been somewhere in France or Germany or Norway or New Zealand on some beach or some cottage or some village or just some place, away from England, away from the war, away, away, away. 

She longed for a cigarette. 

Amelia had thrown out all her packs. 

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if they’d survived?” Minerva asked one day, sharing a drink with Amelia in her office, the fire running low and the window open. 

“Every day,” Amelia replied succinctly, taking a sip of her drink. 

“What a waste,” Minerva commented. “What a waste of life.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Do you want to go flying?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Amelia replied with a grin. Minerva headed for her broom closet, smiling brightly only for her hands to shake as she pulled out Rolanda’s broom. 

“Min?” 

Minerva was quiet. 

“Minerva?” 

Her lips quivered. 

She clamped a hand over her mouth. 

“Minerva,” Amelia repeated, quieter. Minerva felt a hand on her shoulder. 

“I—” 

“Oh Minerva.” 

Amelia wrapped her arms around her, holding onto her tight as her eyes burned and a sob ripped from her mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, it’s been two years—” 

“Hush,” Amelia said, settling them onto the ground as the closet door lay open and Ro’s broomstick had fallen to the floor. 

“I miss her so much,” Minerva sobbed, clutching onto Amelia. “I—” 

Amelia gently stroked her hair, almost swaying them back and forth. 

“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long,” Amelia commented as Minerva wiped her eyes. “I didn’t even see you cry at the funeral.” 

Minerva darkly laughed. “I guess all it took was a bloody broom closet,” she said, trying to smile. 

“Do you want me to help you clean it out?” Amelia offered, looking at her with soft eyes. Minerva shook her head. 

“It’s alright,” she replied. “I invite you over here for a drink and now I end up in tears. Come on, let’s go for a fly.” 

Amelia’s brow furrowed. “Minerva,” she said seriously as Minerva started to get up. “I could never understand losing a partner like Ro, but I did lose Edgar and his family. I understand how it feels.” 

Minerva sniffed and patted her shoulder. “I know,” she replied. “I know.” 

“I wish they were here every day,” Amelia whispered, looking right into Minerva’s eyes. “Every day.” 

“Me too,” Minerva replied. “I should’ve gotten them out that night.” 

“Oh Min, you can’t blame yourself for that—” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Minerva said roughly. “I was there.” 

Amelia reached over and grabbed her hand. “I was too.” 

They soared into the evening later, up against the clouds and right by the mountains, like they used to in their Hogwarts years, when Minerva’s biggest worry was when Amelia kissed her and how she was going to do on her NEWTs and what they were going to do after graduation. When all she knew of a war was the news when she was a child and all she knew about defence spells were that she needed to have them memorized for her class. The sky was clear and the stars were bright and Minerva was in the place that she’d always called home, even if it didn’t feel like it. Amelia was solid beside her. 

“Was I your first kiss?” Amelia asked as they sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Minerva laughed and leaned her head on Amelia’s shoulder.

“No. It was Jamie Stewart,” Minerva replied with a soft smile. “He was a year above us on the Quidditch team, remember?” 

“Nope,” Amelia replied, swinging her legs. “Andrew Bowler was mine. He was kind of an arse.” 

“I remember being awfully jealous of him,” Minerva mused, looking out over the grounds. Amelia threw her head back, bursting out in laughter. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Minerva said. “Is that so surprising?” 

“No, not really.” 

“We had some good times there, hm?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” 

“I’m glad you’re here, Bones.” 

“Glad you’re here too, McGonagall.” 

“Aunt Min!” Isobel squealed, leaping into her arms as she entered the cottage, just as she was hanging up her coat. 

“My goodness, you get taller each time I see you!” 

“You saw me yesterday, Auntie,” Isobel smiled, as Minerva hugged her tight. 

“Did I?” Minerva asked, pretending to think. Isobel giggled. 

“Yes, you did! I had Transfiguration yesterday!” 

Minerva laughed and picked her up, carrying her into the living room as she squealed. “Did you remember any of it?” 

Isobel nodded eagerly. “Well, go on then,” Minerva said, gesturing for her to take out her wand. “What are the properties of a proper transformation?” 

“Quizzing her already are you, Minerva?” Malcolm interrupted, attacking Isobel with a hug from behind. 

“Uncle Malk!” 

Minerva smiled brightly as she watched her brother swing her niece around in the house she’d grown up in, as Kathleen came in with Bobbie holding onto her hand and Theodora close behind her, Thomas on her hip. Minerva greeted both them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, hefting a sleeping Thomas out of an exhausted-looking Theodora’s arms. 

“You know I’m more than willing to babysit,” Minerva said, sitting down at the kitchen island, brushing Thomas’ hair as Theodora nearly collapsed into her seat. 

“No one told me motherhood would be this tiring,” she quipped, looking at the two of them with a small smile, her head rested on her hand. 

“You sure?” 

“No,” she replied with a grin. “Everyone warned me. I just didn’t believe them.” 

Minerva chuckled. “I know how that feels.” 

Theodora looked at her carefully. “I will say it is still strange to have married my professor’s brother,” she teased as Minerva rolled her eyes. 

“I never taught you,” she clarified. “I was still rather new then.” 

Thomas then stirred a little, blinking his eyes open blearily. 

“Hello there,” Minerva whispered, shifting him in her arms. “It’s your Aunt Minerva here.” 

Thomas just yawned, looking up at her with wide eyes. Then, he curled back up against her chest, breathing lightly. 

“Merlin, I thought he was going to wake up there,” Theodora said jokingly. Minerva laughed and rocked him gently. 

“You’re such a natural,” Theodora commented, summoning herself a cup of tea before Mother appeared out of nowhere, immediately making a pot for everyone. 

“So glad to see you, Theo,” Mother greeted, giving Theodora a warm smile and patted Minerva on the back. “Glad you were able to get out of that school, Minerva.” 

Mother puttered around the kitchen, preparing dinner for Easter weekend. “Here, I’ll help Mother out,” Minerva said, passing Thomas back to Theodora, who smiled at her gratefully. 

Minerva rolled up her sleeves, tucked her wand into her bun, and started washing the vegetables that Mother had set out on the counter. 

“Are you staying for the weekend?” Mother asked as they stood by the sink together. 

“I can go back to the castle if need be,” Minerva replied and Mother just tutted. 

“Nonsense. You’ll have to share with Isobel, but you can take your old room,” Mother said fondly, patting her on the arm. “How are you, my dear?” 

Minerva hummed. “Just fine,” she replied. “It’s getting easier,” she lied. She craved a cigarette. 

Mother looked at her with raised eyebrows but didn’t question her further. They quietly prepared dinner together as the rest of the family gathered in the living room, loud with laughter and chatter as the gentle spring air wafted in through the windows. 

“Is Papa upstairs?” 

Mother nodded. “Do you mind bringing him down? I’ll set the table.” 

Minerva rolled back down her sleeves and tucked her wand back up her right arm, heading for the stairs and her father’s study. 

“Papa?” she called, knocking on the door. “It’s dinnertime.” 

“I’m coming, lass,” he replied with a grunt and Minerva frowned. When a couple seconds too long passed, Minerva cracked open the door. Papa was still sitting at his desk, trying to reach for his cane that had dropped onto the floor. 

“Oh Papa,” Minerva lamented, picking it up for him. “Why didn’t you just let me know?” 

“Thank you,” he gruffly said as Minerva helped him up and steadied him on his feet. He reached up and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you, lass?” 

“Good,” Minerva replied, keeping a hand on his arm as they slowly climbed down the stairs. “You know, if you or Mother ever need me to come back, I will.” 

Papa frowned and looked at his cane in disgust. “I hope that’ll never be the case. I never could pry you from that place,” he said with mirth. Minerva laughed. 

“I’d always come home,” she said, leading him into the dining room where the rest of the family was already seated. Bobbie jumped out of his chair and ran towards them, clinging onto Papa’s leg. 

“Grandpapa!” 

“Now, now Bobbie,” Papa scolded gently, patting him on the back. “What did I say that you needed to bring each time?” 

“My notebook!” Bobbie proudly displayed, holding out a small journal. Papa smiled. 

“That’s right, lad,” he said, sitting down at the head of the table. “Now, you wouldn’t want to miss dinner would you?” 

Bobbie shook his head frantically and Minerva smiled brightly. The room was warm and her family was safe and the food smelled lovely and she sat down beside Mother, giving her hand a squeeze. 

Dinner was filled with conversation, from Isobel’s tales of her first few years at Hogwarts to Kathleen’s rather relatable complaints about her coworkers to Malcolm’s lively descriptions of his boss to Bobbie’s proud announcement that he could read chapter books. 

As everyone finished up, Malcolm tapped his wine glass with a spoon, ringing silence throughout the manse. Minerva frowned but relaxed as she saw her brother’s wide grin. 

“We have a very important announcement to make,” he began slowly, looking at Theodora with a warm smile. 

Mother gasped and Papa’s eyes grew large. Kathleen, along with Minerva, leaned forward while Bobbie played with his food and Isobel listened on curiously. 

“We’re pregnant!” Theodora exclaimed, clutching onto Malcolm’s hand. 

“Oh congratulations, my dear!” Mother cried out, leaping out of her seat to give Theodora and Malcolm a hug. “Oh, that’s simply marvellous news.” 

Mother’s eyes were bright and everyone was on their feet to congratulate the couple and Minerva was holding back tears and Papa was laughing and Kathleen was beaming and Isobel was jumping up and down with excitement, forcing Bobbie to join along with her. 

“So, what do you think, Minerva?” Malcolm grinned, lightly jabbing her in the ribs with his elbow. 

“I’m so happy for you,” Minerva said, giving him another hug. “It’s an honour to be an aunt.” 

Malcolm’s smile grew impossibly wider. “I never knew you for such a sap,” he teased and Minerva slapped his shoulder, discretely wiping at her eyes. 

“Oh shut it,” she said as they watched Isobel and Bobbie dance around in the living room. “I wish their father was here,” she commented after a while. 

“Me too,” Malcolm said soberly. “He’d be proud of us, wouldn’t he?” 

Minerva snorted. “Of me, sure. You, on the other hand?” 

Malcolm rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, he would,” Minerva said more seriously. “He would.” 

Malcolm nodded and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. 

“How about we go out for a smoke?” he suggested, wagging his eyebrows in the way that he knew she hated. Minerva’s hand twitched. 

“I—” she began and then faltered. “Please.” 

Malcolm grinned and led them out onto the deck. The air was cool from the night and the sun had yet to fully set. The mountains were wide out in front of them. Malcolm pulled out a pack from his pocket and handed her one, lighting it with his wand for her. 

“Thanks,” Minerva said, taking a long drag. The smoke filled her lungs, familiar, warm, soothing. 

Malcolm looked out onto the backyard. “We were damned lucky, weren’t we?” 

“We sure were,” Minerva agreed. “I broke a man’s heart on this porch,” she joked half-heartedly. Malcolm swirled around and looked at her.

“Did you?” he asked, surprised. 

“Mhm. Perfectly polite farmer boy who wanted to share his life with me,” she said, tapping the ashes from the end of her cigarette. 

“Wow,” Malcolm said, breathing out smoke. “You surprise me sometimes, Minerva.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yup.” He paused. “I’m glad you came tonight.” 

“Where else would I be?” 

“Hogwarts? A friend’s?” 

“I’m here with family tonight,” Minerva said, reaching over and placing a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Dad.” 

“You would’ve been a great mum,” Malcolm said in turn, looking at her. Minerva shrugged. 

“I’ve had hundreds of children,” was all she said and they both sat in silence on the porch of their childhood home until Mother came out and scolded both of them for catching their death and they ducked back in like teenagers and Minerva nicked Malcolm’s pack of cigarettes. 

“Were you smoking?” Papa asked as Minerva came and sat on his armrest.

“Yes,” Minerva replied plainly as Papa wrinkled his nose. “Hey, don’t think that I don’t see your stash of cigars in your desk drawers.” 

“Those are for special occasions only,” Papa said sternly, waving his hand. Minerva discretely waved her wand and charmed away the scent of smoke. “You know, you don’t have to hide that, lass,” Papa said quietly. 

Well. Clearly not discretely enough. 

“Sorry,” Minerva mumbled. “Force of habit.” 

Papa looked sad. 

“Don’t worry,” Minerva said, patting him on the arm. “It’s alright.” 

“You don’t have to hide from me, you know?”

Minerva looked him in the eye. 

“Yes, Papa, I do.”

“Aunt Min!” 

“Oh you’ve gotten so big!” Minerva commented, hefting Neville up with a grin and wiping the crumbs off his face. 

“Yes!” Neville said, clapping his hands together and giving her a toothy smile. “Mummy said you coming!” 

Minerva smiled and shifted them onto her hip as she put her cloak up and headed into the kitchen, where Frank was cleaning up the counter. 

“Thanks so much for babysitting as minute,” he said, smiling gratefully at Minerva and kissing Neville on the forehead. 

“I’m glad to be of service,” Minerva replied, sitting on the couch and holding Neville by his hands, allowing him to stand on her lap. 

“Alastor has us out on more and more investigative missions,” Frank said with a dark look in his eyes. Minerva frowned. 

“I thought the Death Eater situation was handled,” Minerva said slowly, distracting Neville with a graceful wave of her wand. Frank shook his head. 

“We have new information,” he said vaguely and called for Alice from the bottom of the stairs. “Almost all of us are on it.” 

“Alastor’s alright?” Minerva asked in lieu of response, holding onto Neville carefully as he giggled. 

Frank’s brow deepened. “He was pretty injured during the war.”

“I know.” 

“Hopefully we’ll get them soon,” Frank said as Alice came down and kissed Minerva on the cheek, grabbing Neville and giving him a warm hug. 

“Thanks so much for doing this, Minerva,” she said, smiling warmly. “The department is so busy nowadays.” 

Minerva smiled tightly. “Of course.” 

“Mum will be stopping by later; I hope you don’t mind,” Frank added and Minerva just nodded. 

“Be careful,” she said seriously.

“Don’t worry Minerva,” Frank said with a grin. “The war’s over.” 

Minerva nodded nervously as Alice passed Neville back to her. 

“Let’s say bye-bye to Mum and Dad, hm?” she asked him as they walked towards the doorway. 

“Bye-bye!” Neville waved his hand frantically as his parents both kissed him and Disapparated at the end of the property. Minerva closed the door and set an additional pair of wards on the home. 

“Your grandma will be coming by soon, what if we read some stories before she comes?” 

“Pah,” Neville said, poking Minerva’s nose. She laughed and walked upstairs, setting into the rocking chair that was in his nursery with the young boy rested on her lap, reading quietly The Tales of Beetle the Bard. 

Neville pointed enthusiastically at the moving pictures as Minerva held her wand up, making them, quite literally, dance right off the pages and all around Neville, who watched fascinated.

Suddenly, Minerva tensed as she felt the wards move and stood up slowly. 

“Minerva?” a voice called out and she immediately calmed, hurrying down the stairs. 

“My goodness, Gussie, you scared the life out of me,” Minerva said, still clutching onto Neville, who was still smiling brightly, oblivious to Minerva’s stress. Augusta laughed. 

“Merlin, Minerva, you should see your face!” she teased and Minerva just slapped her arm. 

“It’s no laughing matter,” she said haughtily, sticking her nose up into the air and Augusta just laughed more. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said, taking Neville who nearly leapt out of Minerva’s arms once he saw his grandmother. 

Minerva leaned against the counter as she watched Augusta play with her grandson, smiling bright as she lifted him up into the air. Eventually, they let Neville sit and throw around blocks on his play-mat, giggling as Minerva charmed the toys to fly and change colour. 

“He hasn’t shown a single sign of magic yet,” Augusta said, worry seeping into her tone. Minerva tutted her. 

“He’s barely two. It takes time,” she said.

“From what I’ve heard, you were making the bagpipes sing from the crib,” Augusta replied, raising an eyebrow. Minerva just looked at her. 

“Where on Earth did you hear that story?” 

“Your mother,” Augusta replied with a smirk. Minerva just slapped her arm. 

“I was a unique case,” she replied. “And with my brothers it took some time as well. Everyone is different.” 

Augusta just hummed noncommittally. 

“With some it takes time,” Minerva repeated. “Give him time. He’s still very young.” 

“Of course,” Augusta said, still watching her grandson. “How’s it going up in that draft castle of yours?” 

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I think I do more paperwork than teaching,” she complained. “Albus is still busy with the Ministry most days.” 

“Mm, I heard about that. The Auror department is scrambling,” Augusta commented. 

“God, when does it end?” 

“You tell me.” 

Neville laughed brightly as Minerva transfigured one of his blocks into a stuffed elephant. 

“Merlin, you need to stop spoiling him,” Augusta scolded and Minerva just shrugged. 

“He is very loved,” was all she said and turned the orange block into a fluffy lion. Augusta rolled her eyes but patted her arm. 

“That he is.” 

As the sky grew darker, Neville’s yawns became more and more frequent and Minerva finally picked him up, his head falling onto her shoulder as his eyes drooped. 

“Shh,” she whispered, patting his back as they walked upstairs and she settled him into his crib. Minerva and Augusta watched as he quickly fell asleep and turned out the lights and Augusta placed a spell over the young boy, charming it to let her know if anything went wrong. 

“My goodness, I was supposed to meet Amelia,” Augusta gasped as they sat in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine. Minerva just waved her hand. 

“Invite her over here,” she said. “Frank and Alice may be some time.”

Augusta grinned and hailed one of the owls and sent off a quick note and half an hour later, the doorbell rang. 

“Amelia!” Augusta greeted, hugging her. Minerva grinned and wrapped her arms around her friend. 

“Welcome, welcome,” she said as Amelia stepped in. 

“You guys know that you have your own homes, right?” Amelia teased and Minerva just rolled her eyes. 

“If you want to be surrounded by hundreds of hormonal teenage students, be my guest,” Minerva quipped as Augusta said that they were babysitting Neville. 

“He’s a sweet one, isn’t he?” Amelia commented. “Is he sleeping now?” 

Minerva and Augusta nodded, welcoming her into the kitchen where Minerva poured Amelia a glass of wine. 

“How’s it going at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” Minerva asked, dragging out the name. Amelia slapped her arm. 

“Just because you quit doesn’t mean it’s the same place that you left,” Amelia said. “Though the changes haven’t necessarily been where you’d expect.” 

Minerva scoffed. “As long as we never get a Minister like Minchum again, I’m good,” she said, holding her hands up as Amelia and Augusta laughed. 

“You know, I always had a feeling our Min would be a teacher,” Amelia commented, looking carefully at her from across the counter. Minerva raised an eyebrow. 

“It was the tutoring group,” Augusta said and Amelia pointed a finger at her. 

“It was.” 

“Merlin, that was so long ago,” Minerva said, taking another sip of her drink. “God, we were so young.” 

“That we were,” Amelia said. “I was Minerva’s gay awakening,” she added with a wink and Augusta burst out laughing. 

“You know, I’d always wondered what happened between you two then,” Augusta said, smiling slyly. “Though I did manage to piece things together. You weren’t as discrete as you thought you were,” she said with a tilt of her head and Minerva laughed. 

“We kissed, danced, were young and stupid and broke each other’s hearts,” Amelia said succinctly and Minerva took another sip of her wine. 

“That’s about right,” she said and Augusta grinned. 

“Thank goodness we’re older now,” Minerva said, raising her glass. “Youth is overrated.” 

“You speak like we’re old crones,” Amelia said. Minerva just pointed at Augusta. 

“This one’s a grandmother,” she said with a smirk and Augusta just gasped and slapped her arm. 

“How dare you!” 

Both Amelia and Minerva burst into laughter. 

“At least you’ve married,” Amelia said. “Mum still holds out hope for me.” 

Minerva laughed and played with her ring. “I presume she has no idea.” 

“Nope,” Amelia replied. “And I have no plans to.” 

“Understandable,” Minerva said. “You know, sometimes I am incredibly envious of you.” 

Amelia tilted her head. 

“You got to keep your partner,” Augusta said quietly. 

“I know,” Amelia said. “And everyday I am glad for it.” 

Minerva smiled sadly at her and walked over, leaning her chin on her head. “And everyday I am glad for you.” 

“You should invite Emmeline along more,” Augusta said, breaking the short silence. 

“I swear sometimes her schedule is busier than mine,” Amelia lamented but reached over and grabbed Augusta’s hand. “But next time, I will.” 

“She knew Rolanda well, didn’t she?” Augusta asked, looking at Minerva. 

“Sort of, I suppose,” Minerva replied, nursing her wine glass. “It was hard to tell with Ro. She got along with everyone.” 

“That she did,” Amelia mused and the three of them laughed and talked into the night, until Amelia left and Frank and Alice came home tired and exhausted but safe and well and Augusta stayed the night and Minerva headed back for Hogwarts and crawled into bed, warm and soft and dreamt of Rolanda flying amongst the skies. 

Spring fell to summer and Minerva watched with a bright smile as Neville turned two, as he nearly fell into his cake trying to blow out his candles and smeared icing all over his face. Students came and went and she watched the first generation of Weasley siblings walk through the castle’s hallowed halls, with Bill who was bright and sharp and had a whole slew of brothers—and one sister—coming on the way. Minerva taught her classes just as carefully as she had for the past decades, her marking ever consistent, ever fair. 

She started spending more time with the rest of the staff, having drinks at the Three Broomsticks during Hogsmeade duties and after staff meetings where Albus would ramble and ramble and ramble on and Minerva had to cut in more than once. They had made new hires with Aurora Sinistra, Bathsheda Babbling, and Septima Vector, all excellent professionals in their fields and one of the things that Minerva was especially looking for at this point, they were all women. 

The staff had changed extensively since she was a student and for once, this was one of the good things. Poppy invited her for a drink after one of Albus’ much too long meetings—of which she has mentioned to him many, many times—and they were joined by Pomona and Aurora and Irma and Septima in Aurora’s quarters, warm by the fire with glasses in hand, complaining about their students, their partners, the everlasting chill of the castle, the noise of the Great Hall and the quiet of the library. Minerva sat back in her seat, nursing her glass and listened to her colleagues chatter away and the soft lull of the wind wafting in through the open window. As the night came to a close and a couple of them had rounds to make, Minerva walked Poppy back to the Infirmary, intending to check on a couple of her students. 

“I couldn’t imagine the work you’ve had to put up with sometimes,” Minerva commented as they walked leisurely through the halls. 

“It’s easier than you think,” Poppy replied with a wink. “I don’t envy your job, though.” 

Minerva snorted as they reached the Hospital Wing and opened the doors. “It’s good some days, simply headache-inducing others,” she said as she walked by the beds. “Everyone seems to be fine?”

Poppy waved her wand and immediately a screen of sorts appeared with all sorts of moving information, graphs and scales and numbers spinning past Minerva. 

“Just fine, Madam Deputy Headmistress,” she teased with a slight bow and Minerva chuckled. 

“Have a good evening, Madam Pompfrey,” Minerva said with a grin and walked back to her rooms with a skip in her step. Her bed was warm. 

The days continued and summer bled to fall and fall to winter and soon they were at 1984 and Minerva still wished for Ro to walk through the door and she still slept only on the left side of the bed and she always, always, always wished for her to come home and she still smoked—only sometimes, when it got bad—and there were still things that she wanted (Ro, the life they could’ve left, the home they’d made) but there were also other things that she wanted and the days were looking bright and path wasn’t so narrow anymore and Minerva found love in the cracks of the relationships she’d spent years building and nurturing and caring, in the women that she’d loved in many different ways—and sometimes in those ways all at the same time. 

Poppy was funny and Pomona was kind and Albus was endearing—she was starting to see him crack a smile more and more—and Aurora was wicked smart and Irma loved the same kinds of books Minerva did and while Severus was moody and mean and rather dark most of the time, he was more than amicable about brewing potions and more than competent at the subject he was teaching, even if she did nag him all the time about the teaching strategy. 

Things were settling down. 

Things were okay. 

There were days where she wanted to go back to the cottage. There were still days where she would walk down to the Apparation point and almost do it. She had yet to visit Rolanda’s grave. 

And there were days where she was laughing with her family, the people she loved more than life itself, the people that had raised her, grown up with her, and she still missed Robert so much that it ached. 

It all came shattering down when Albus swept into her office on fateful morning in 1985 and Minerva had a chill run down her back and thought that the war was over. 

She was wrong. 

Neville was crying. He was crying and it was shrill and Minerva was tempted to place a spell on her ears and Augusta’s house was cold and the floor was cold and the sofa was cold and everything was so fucking cold. 

The Healers were still operating. They had been trying for days. Augusta was trying to calm down the sobbing boy and Minerva just reached for him, pulling him gently into her arms as Augusta collapsed onto the stool in the kitchen with her head on the table. 

Minerva stood up and swayed him gently, until his crying slowly subsided and fell asleep on her shoulder. Minerva swept into the guest room that had been converted into Neville’s room when he was born and settled him into the crib and kissed him on the forehead and wished that his entire life hadn’t just changed before his eyes. 

When Minerva walked back downstairs Augusta’s head was still on the counter. She placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Gussie,” Minerva said quietly. “You should get some sleep.” 

Augusta let out a gut-retching sob. 

“He’s my  _ son,” _ she cried. “My son.” 

Minerva swept Augusta into her arms, her eyes burning. “I know, Gussie, I know.” 

_ “My son.”  _

“I know, Gussie,” Minerva whispered, patting her back and holding onto her tight. “I know.” 

A plate shattered against the wall. It felt good. It fell to the ground with a great smash and Minerva flung another one. 

It broke into hundreds of pieces, splattering all over her floors. 

Another and another and another until she ran out of plates and then she summoned some more. Another and another and another. 

And then she conjured a broom, swept it all up, and shattered some more. 

Augusta’s sobs haunted her ears. 

There was a knock on her door. 

“Come in!” she called. Her voice was harsh. 

“Minerva?” 

“What?” 

“Minerva—” 

“For  _ fuck’s _ sake what do you need, Poppy?” 

“I was just wondering if you were interested in coming down to the Three Broomsticks with me and—” 

“Does it look like I’m goddamn interested?” 

Poppy paused. 

“Why do you keep coming by?” 

“Because I’m interested your company.” 

Minerva scoffed. “I’m not looking for company.” 

“I understand.” 

“I want my godson back,” Minerva hollered, flinging another plate. “I—” 

“It’s okay,” Poppy said, quiet. 

“I want him _ safe!  _ It’s all I ever wanted—” 

Minerva fell to the floor, her knees hitting the stone hard, her arms around her stomach. “I’ve only ever wanted them safe, it’s all I’ve ever asked—” 

Poppy knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“Minerva,” she said softly. 

“The war was supposed to be over!” 

“I know,” Poppy said soberly. “There’s still hope.” 

Minerva shook her head frantically. “It’s been a week,” she whispered. “It’s been a week.” 

“Oh Minerva,” Poppy said, sweeping her hand and vanishing all the broken porcelain. 

Minerva looked at her with red eyes. Poppy had wonderful blonde hair. Her eyes were soft and they were bright and very, very blue. 

Minerva kissed her. 

Poppy gasped a little, clearly surprised. Minerva grabbed her shoulders and kissed her harder, with purpose, pushing her onto the ground. Poppy’s lips were soft and her hair spilled around her and Minerva kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. 

“Minerva, I don’t think we should be—” 

“Shut up,” she said, pulling her up and pushing her against the wall. “You’re lovely.” 

“Minerva—” 

Minerva cut her off with a bite on her neck and her room filled with gasps and Minerva was burning and Poppy was here and Poppy was here when so many others were not and Poppy was here, she was here, she was here, she was here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the slightly late update! this chapter, while not as hard to write as the last one, definitely didn't come super easy either. however, i think i'm getting back into the flow of things and the next update will come as originally scheduled, so two days from now. i hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought! and yes, you are allowed to murder me ;)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this first chapter! this is my first foray into harry potter fic after many years so hopefully i haven't messed anything up. let me know what you thought and i'll be updating every other day. kudos and comments are much appreciated!


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